


Cat Dandy

by murderlight



Category: Bleach
Genre: Eventual Romance, Found Friends and Family, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Kinda, M/M, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-03-29 01:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: “Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is dead,” Nel said calmly, staring him straight in the eye. “He died inside Askin’s final trap, and his body was never recovered.”Grimmjow's fight with Askin Nakk le Vaar leads to unexpected consequences--and an old life he never wanted to see again. Ichigo's victory over Yhwach sees him lose more than he gained.Or: Grimmjow is a panther adjuchas again, and Ichigo has no goddamn idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Russian translation by Nevedomka now available!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7646640)

 

 

 

There was something incredibly demeaning to Nel about carrying three poisoned shinigami and one arrancar on the back of her resurrección form, when it was supposed to be for valiant battles and protecting others and…well, not transport. But she was shaped conveniently enough that she galloped them to safety, tightly tied to her waist with Urahara’s shredded haori so they wouldn’t fall off.

Truth was, they almost all died anyway as the unstable effect of the Gift Ball Deluxe began to close up and ignite the reiryoku inside. The stink of singed fur and the heat under her hooves told Nel all she needed to know about how close they’d cut it. Tearing the fabric away from her waist, her passengers fell to the ground. One, two, three, four. Urahara, Yoruichi, the young boy…and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Boy, was he going to be pissed off when he woke up and realised that…that Nel…had…

Nel leaned forward abruptly, her eyes sharp.

Something was wrong.

Grimmjow’s reiatsu was low, and it was _leaking_. He was collapsed on his side, clammy and breathing in shallow, uneven catches of breath, with shadows like bruises painted below his eyes. His mouth was purple-blue and slack. Through the slits of his eyelids, his eyes were white and rolling. He was very clearly dying.

“Oh,” Nel said, sitting back. “Guess you’re not making it out after all.”

The others were all unconscious, but none were in the kind of shape Grimmjow was. He’d done something they hadn’t, she supposed. His entire hand and arm was rusty with blood that smelled like quincy. Had that been it? Whatever it was, she was watching him suffer in agony, limbs twitching occasionally in the grasp of the toxin. Nel didn’t particularly like or respect Grimmjow, in fact, he was loud and abrasive and always mouthing off about fighting her for an espada rank he claimed not to care about, but she wouldn’t wish that kind of death on anyone. No help was coming for them. Urahara looked more ragdoll than shinigami.

Slowly, Nel raised Gamuza and placed the pointed tip of her lance over Grimmjow’s sluggishly beating heart. One quick push to puncture the sternum. Quick and painless. She readied her arm—

Reiryoku like rancid-smelling steam erupted from Grimmjow’s skin in a rush so potent and thick it obscured his entire body with blue fog, boiling out of him and choking her. Gagging as the vapour hit the back of her throat, Nel reared back and had to double over, coughing and hacking for air. That reiryoku was tainted, poisoned. Askin’s last gift packed a hell of a punch. Grimmjow’s body was venting it like an exhaust trying to lose the excess. When her eyes stopped tearing and she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up, Nel wiped her mouth and straightened, ready to give Grimmjow a solid piece of her mind.

The vapour cleared away slowly, but what was left of Grimmjow was something different.

Staggering to his feet—all four of them—Grimmjow shook his enormous white-plated head in groggy confusion, trying to get his bearings. His long tail snapped like a whip behind him. Tufted black ears swiveled and pricked forward, one pointing directly at Nel. A long pink tongue lashed a full mouth of razor-sharp teeth. The jewel-blue eyes that looked up, up, up at Nel were bright with intelligence, set in a panther’s face.

“ _Adjuchas_ _,_ ” Nel breathed through her fingers, pity and horror breaking open in her chest. “Oh, Grimmjow.”

In his body’s attempt to purge the poison inside him, it had expelled all the reiryoku that made him an arrancar.

Grimmjow had regressed.

Nel had never seen his adjuchas form, but the level of his reiatsu and the shape of his new body told her that was exactly what he was. Not even vasto lorde. The poison had nearly killed him, and shedding it had left him with only that much to live on. Four legs, a white-plated body thick with animal muscle. Black paws and neck covered in short fur. And teeth. She’d known his Resurrección was a panther, but to see it in such a base animal form was—it felt like an intrusion. She’d seen something he didn’t want seen.

Grimmjow’s mind finally cleared enough that he took one look at himself and roared. It was a coughing, throaty sound of pure animal rage and loss, and it blew around Nel like a physical wave of spiritual pressure. The eyes he turned to her were slitted like a true cat’s, though she’d never seen naked shame like that in his face before. Letting go of her released form, Nel waited until her body had returned to that of a complete woman before she reached out with a calming hand.

“The poison was going to kill you,” she said, careful to make her tone even. If he tasted pity in her words he’d attack, and she’d have to kill him. “Your body had to purge the impure reiryoku.”

“Adjuchas,” he seemed to moan, staring down at his own paws. “I’m a fucking adjuchas again. I’m a—I’m a hollow. I’m a fucking hollow in Soul Society.” He stared up at Nel with blazing defiance in his feline eyes. “I’m _prey_ _._ ”

“You’ve always been a hollow,” Nel said frankly. “I don’t think you’ve ever been prey.”

“I’m not espada,” he spat, lifting his muzzle to bare sharp white teeth. “I’m _prey_. Anyone I ever pissed off is going to come for me once they know I’m like this. My sword’s gone.” A strangled sound gathered in his throat. “Nelliel, my sword is gone.”

“So run,” Nel told him, tilting her head. “Run, and hide, and pick off enough hollows to keep yourself adjuchas. Or fight, and eat, and evolve again. The hougyoku touched you once, didn’t it? Your body will remember what to do.” Glancing to the others, she realised they were still out cold for the time being. It would probably be the only chance Grimmjow would get. “Urahara left us a door back to the human world. Use it before I do, and I won’t see where you go.”

“A head start,” Grimmjow said dully, but his eyes were sharp in his new face. “To run away like some coward piece of shit. Listen, I want you to tell them—tell everyone that Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is dead, and there’s nothing left of his bones. Do it and I might stand a chance. Refuse and you might as well fucking stab me right here, because I’ll be dead within the week.”

It sounded dramatic, but Nel knew better. A weakened espada was a dead espada. But one more adjuchas roaming the pale dunes of Hueco Mundo might survive. If they ever saw it again, anyway. She knew firsthand the value of keeping an identity safe when enemies might exploit unexpected weakness. And Grimmjow didn’t have anyone but himself.

Nel pulled out Urahara’s device and activated the doorway.

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is dead,” Nel said calmly, staring him straight in the eye. “He died inside Askin’s final trap, and his body was never recovered.” She tilted her chin to the black rent in the air that was open just far enough for a large panther-like creature to squeeze through. “Perhaps he even died a hero.”

“They’ll know that’s bullshit.” Padding over to the doorway, Grimmjow seemed to haul in a long, steadying breath. His head was hanging, still ashamed and shocked by his form, but Nel knew he was a survivor. When he didn’t know how to do anything else, he fought. “Hey, Nelliel…guess you get to keep that number three after all.”

Nel’s lips quirked. “I’ll look after it for you.”

Grimmjow’s face couldn’t convey much expression anymore, but she liked to think he was feeling a little amused.

“Fucking adjuchas,” he muttered in disbelief, mostly to himself, and in a flick of tail and the swallow of a dimensional tear he was gone, running like a lost thing desperate to carve out a new space for himself.

Nel didn’t particularly like or respect Grimmjow, it was true, but from one underdog to another she wished him well.

* * *

Yhwach was dead.

 _Fuck_ that guy. Ichigo felt like he was almost dead on his feet himself as he hauled his way back to the congregation of reiatsu that made up the survivors of the war. Ishida was trying to awkwardly fuss at him the entire way and explain things about the sternritter and his own motivations, but to be honest Ichigo didn’t give a shit. Ishida was his friend. He was also a dumb asshole, but he was Ichigo’s friend. He didn’t have to know the details.

“Do you ever wonder why our fathers are always together?” Ishida finally asked into the silence between them, sounding defeated by the wall of disinterest Ichigo was stubbornly building. “For two men who are supposed to hate each other, they really hang out a lot.”

“I don’t know,” Ichigo said wearily. He could really use some water. “Maybe they hook up.”

“Hook up?” Ishida repeated blankly. Ichigo could pinpoint the exact moment he understood by the rush of pink in his milk-pale cheeks. The rest of their journey was sweet, blessed silence.

They returned to a hero’s welcome. Everyone was everywhere, all the time. Inoue gave him an enormous boost of healing, people he’d never seen before slapped his back, and captain after lieutenant after shinigami give him their heartfelt thanks, like maybe Ichigo hadn’t been carried half the way by all his friends. A few enemies, too.

Suddenly reminded, his eyes searched the crowd for a familiar head of wild blue hair. It’d be kind of nice to hear some threats instead of congratulations. That running sternritter guy’s reiatsu had been obliterated at some point, because Ichigo couldn’t feel it anymore—

Ichigo’s eyes met Nel’s across the crowd at the exact moment he realised he couldn’t feel Grimmjow’s reiatsu anywhere.

Had he left? He’d left. He’d gone somewhere. Stretching up to see over the crowd, he mouthed one word to Nel.

_Grimmjow?_

Nel seemed to open her mouth to speak across the roar of the crowd. Then, slowly, she closed it. She shook her head, once, just as slowly. The unsmiling downturn of her mouth said it all. Beside her, Urahara looked a little poleaxed, like he’d left something behind and lost it when he wasn’t paying attention. Rocking back on his heels, Ichigo reeled with the sudden shared understanding.

Grimmjow was dead.

But what about all his grand plans to defeat him? He’d had…plans. People like Grimmjow didn’t just die without—Ichigo was supposed to fight him! They were supposed to settle it, bond over it, or fight about it for the rest of their days just like he’d promised. How could he be dead?

The crowd swirled around him, tending to injured, telling him how wonderful he was, speaking words that just sounded like tuned-out radio to his ears.

Ichigo had won the war for Soul Society, but in that half-lucid moment of shock a pit had opened in his stomach where something important had been cut away. He’d lost something he hadn’t even realised he’d been relying on for the After, for when it was all over.

Grimmjow was dead, and Ichigo hadn’t even felt him go.

Somehow, that felt like the worst part of all.

* * *

Peace came. People healed. Soul Society began to rebuild.

The passage of time tasted like ash in Ichigo’s mouth. Three months. Six months. Eight months went by. A year.

School finished. His days opened up. When he wasn’t working, he was patrolling Karakura by night, killing hollows and sending on the lingering souls of the recently dead. Shinigami stuff. Baby stuff, really. He only held himself in check because he didn’t want to obliterate half the town with his sword-stroke. Ichigo played with the hollows sometimes, trying to get a rise out of them. But they were just dumb beasts in the end, driven by the starving despair of their missing hearts. After a while he began to feel like he was being cruel, and started ending it without so much as an introduction.

Days blurred. Chad, Ishida and Inoue stopped by, and he still saw them all the time, but undeniably something in them had each changed a little. Ichigo didn’t want to say he was depressed or anything, but the come-down from the war was taking its sweet damn time. Regular life still felt like the calm before the storm. It made him twitchy, anxious. It snapped him awake during the night, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Sometimes the shadows made stepped holes in the plaster, like a garganta opening. Sometimes his tired eyes played stupid tricks.

It was on one of those nights that Ichigo crawled out his window, punchy from lack of sleep and eager to distract himself from the too-hot scratch of his sheets and the oppressive four walls of his bedroom. Even the rote destruction of random hollows would probably do, he decided, woven sandals touching the blacktop with soundless pressure. Adjusting his swords, knowing his body was safe back in his room, Ichigo made his usual circuits of the town.

He’d done half his nightly path and was just thinking of crossing through the cemetery to go back home when he saw it standing in the middle of the road, right where the cresting hill gave way to the rising full moon. It put the creature in complete silhouette, but it was big and it looked mean, a hollow’s reiatsu rising off it like a heat signature to Ichigo’s starved senses. This one was stronger than the others by a long shot.

It also had four legs and a tail, unless he was hallucinating. Could dogs become hollows now? That was just sick.

Whatever it was, Ichigo realised with an excited start, it was watching him. Not attacking, not running. Watching him standing at the bottom of the hill, with moonlight shining behind it so that he could see nothing but the glint of two eyes in an ink-dark animal face.

“Cool,” Ichigo breathed before he could stop himself. That was such a cool entrance. The dog was dramatic! His night had turned right around. His fingers itched for his swords. One, both, it didn’t matter. But what if he scared it away? If it bolted because he swung off a premature getsuga tenshou, he’d probably cry a little. Resolving to keep his swords sheathed and his hands in plain sight, Ichigo whistled quietly and walked in a completely casual manner toward the hulking beast staring down at him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of a shinigami’s reiatsu. Ichigo mostly kept his under wraps, since he tended to terrify the spiritually aware, but he knew he was no slouch even when it came to dormant readings. What, he wasn’t special or something? The dog was a snob?

Why did he care? The unbidden thought broke through his offended spiral, bringing him up short. Well, it was something new and interesting, Ichigo reasoned. He hadn’t realised just how damn bored he’d been, all the way down in the dry sawdust of his soul. He’d always thought he’d have other fights, hadn’t he? But Renji mostly wanted to stay with Rukia, and Ishida was all guilty and weird about the Yhwach thing. Chad apologised too much before trying to shatter his face. Others had just straight-up died, silent and in the background somewhere, with absolutely no thought or care about what Ichigo would make of it. So what if he was excited to meet a hollow dog? So what if it gave him the first bit of excitement he’d had in almost a year?

Ichigo was almost storming up the hill by then, scowling like a thunderhead as he crested the stupid hill, to meet the stupid dog that was staring at him like he was a piece of shit.

“What?” he snapped at it. “What the hell are you—oh shit, you’re a cat. My bad.”

A big cat. It was bulky with a thick layer of muscle under its white hollow plates of interlocking armour, coming up almost to Ichigo’s chest just standing. He was willing to bet that if it sat, its head would touch his collarbone. It was a _big cat._ With the round face and the forward-pointing eyes of a carnivorous apex predator, it didn’t even need the flash of wet pointed teeth to make its threats. A column of raised armour started at the base of its neck and traveled all the way down its back, even bisecting the hollow hole in its abdomen to flex freely as a long, whip-like tail. The entire behemoth was black and white, with only a set of brilliant, slitted blue eyes to break it all up.

In all his time as a shinigami Ichigo had never been so impressed by a hollow, and he’d seen some shit.

Since it was just standing there looking at him, it honestly felt like bad manners to just kill it. He didn’t even know if it had been killing anything before he showed up. It didn’t seem like it had. The neighbourhood around them was silent and sweet, everyone probably having some great sleep like Ichigo wanted to, if he could manage to keep his eyes shut for more than five minutes at a time. Since it didn’t seem hostile, Ichigo did the only other thing he could think of and patted the enormous hollow cat right between its furry black-tipped ears.

The hollow cat looked at him.

Ichigo looked right back.

With a neat twist of its head, it bit clean through his forearm.

“CUNT,” Ichigo yelled mindlessly, feeling teeth go in one side of his arm and out the other. “Get off, get off, get off!!”

What followed wasn’t pretty. God, it was ugly, and undignified, and Ichigo never thought he’d kick a giant cat in the balls but he did it without remorse, yanking its ears and jabbing its eyes until it finally let go and spat a cero right in his gawking face, a bright bubble of pain that mostly bounced off his skin but still kind of felt like a bad sunburn.

Literally seeing red, Ichigo threw down his longsword and crash-tackled the bastard with both hands, bleeding and swearing the whole way down the hill as they rolled. He shoved his face down into the furry crook of the asshole’s neck and went complete bear-trap on it as they thudded and thumped over the uneven surface of the road, gaining speed until they hit the bottom in an almighty slam of muscle and bone (and about seven of Ichigo’s kidneys when he landed first with the cat on top of him). The breath rushed out of him, his ribcage compressed and he saw silver stars burst in the corners of his vision, but it didn’t stop Ichigo from punching the cat in the side of its face as hard as he could without releasing his reiatsu.

“That’s,” punch, “not,” punch, “how you greet people!” he yelled into its angry blue eyes, which seemed like the most responsive thing about it. Pupils blew open like blind lakes, widening until the blue was a hair-thin ring around it. It looked pissed. Not looking forward to another bite, Ichigo pre-emptively got it in a brutal headlock, steadily choking it out while it was caught side-on in a crushing leg-grip. He was bleeding everywhere, and it just made him more outraged. He’d killed Yhwach, damn it, and death by cat bite wasn’t really on his list of acceptable endings. “I’m not letting go til you go limp, you fangy son of a bitch, so roll over already or die.”

The bulky mass of the cat seemed to swell in indignation for a long moment, then abruptly deflated like a balloon with a slow leak. So it could understand him, Ichigo thought with silent satisfaction. Good. That would make things easier. Releasing his grip on its neck, Ichigo pulled his half-numb leg out from under it and rolled over the top of its flank, coming to sit between its front and hind legs. Wheezing like a labouring engine, the hollow couldn’t even lift its head right away. Ichigo just rested against its plated stomach and pulled his sleeve back, getting a good look at the punctures in his arm.

“Four holes,” Ichigo said in disgust, waving his forearm at the possibly dying hollow’s face. “Two on either side. Thank you, now I look like a self-harm risk. I can’t even take this to Inoue without getting the eyes.” The sad, big eyes that said she wished she’d been able to protect him better, like he wasn’t a walking danger zone most days anyway. There came a point when people just had to let him fight giant cats at his own risk. “Dad’s going to love healing this.”

The belly at his back expanded on a sigh, pushing him forward and back into a more comfortable recline. The hollow didn’t offer any sage wisdom, but it hadn’t bit him again. It actually looked kind of beaten; face half-pressed into the black surface of the road, its strange blue eyes blazing out at nothing, full of exhaustion and rage (but mostly exhaustion). Its enormous paws were kneading air, clenching and unclenching like it wanted to shred something. Ichigo didn’t know what the cat-speak for it was, and he didn’t want to know. Maybe it just wanted to gut him.

“I’m going to guess you’re one of those non-verbal hollows,” Ichigo found himself saying to it, like he’d ever met a non-verbal hollow in his life. “Mostly I get the monologuing assholes, so really this is kind of a nice change.” This time when he twisted to give it a friendly slap on its haunch, he only sprayed a jet-stream of blood from his arm and it didn’t bite him. “I really should go home and bandage this.”

The hollow slid its slitted eyes toward him and stared, like maybe it knew the same thing he did: he couldn’t leave an enormous, obviously powerful hollow cat running around Karakura unchecked. But it didn’t attack, or twitch, or even lift its big black and white head. It just blew a long breath out through its muzzle, and waited.

For what? His sword? Ichigo wasn’t some kind of executioner. But it stayed there, and from its apparent intellect, it had to know what he was, what his whole existence was for when he donned the black uniform.

Did it want to die?

Rolling up onto his knees, Ichigo slowly got to his feet and turned to face the hollow, who simply waited with its chin resting limply on its black-furred paw. Its pretty eyes were dull and glassy, gone somewhere else in its own head. With a sharp lurch, Ichigo knew those eyes were too intelligent to belong to some dumb animal. Whatever it was, it knew what it was doing and it had escaped elsewhere while the shinigami did what shinigami do. But Ichigo wasn’t—well, he was just a substitute, wasn’t he? Nobody was counting his kills.

“Hey,” he said hesitantly, leaning down to push against the hollow’s side. It blinked sharply, lifting its head to stare at him with intense eyes. Eyes that were alive. “You just need spiritual energy to live, right? I—I put out a lot of it, just by accident. If you don’t kill or hurt anyone, you can stay with me and it’s all the same, right?”

What the fuck was he saying? _What the fuck was he saying to the giant cat who just chewed a hole through him?_

But the hollow’s head was lifting, its muzzle trembling like it wanted to snarl. Still, it didn’t. Its eyes were the blue of pure gasflame, of the sky before dawn broke, and its eyes weren’t dumb or animal at all. It was actually looking at Ichigo like he was straight-up crazy. Ichigo kind of agreed with it.

“We don’t have to kill each other to get what we want,” Ichigo said slowly, with all the gathering sincerity he could manage. “You haven’t hurt anyone. This doesn’t have to be—” _If Hueco Mundo is gone, where am I supposed to kill you?_ “—I’m not ready to kill you just because of what you are.” He stared down at the hollow cat and wondered why it was looking at him with such angry, proud eyes. “Just don’t be an asshole and come stay at my house, and we can work something out.”

The hollow looked at him like it had never seen anything like Ichigo in all its life.

Suitably embarrassed by the giant cat who apparently had feelings on the matter of pacifist shinigami, Ichigo turned stiffly and skirted it, walking back up the road to where he’d dumped Zangetsu’s longsword moments before his enormous tantrum with the weird, cool-looking hollow cat that had turned up at random. His forearm was still freely dripping warm blood off his fingertips and that should probably worry him, but mostly he still felt fine apart from the brilliant stinging ache where the muscle had been rent. But that would heal. Come to think of it, he probably shouldn’t have tried to pet a hollow in the first place.

Grabbing his sword and fastening it over his back, Ichigo wondered if he should turn back and ask it again, or proudly walk away—and have to come back and kill it when it invariably forced his hand. Both options seemed messy and embarrassing after a declaration like that. But the scrape of a footstep, claws and all sounded behind him, and Ichigo slowly glanced over his shoulder to see the hollow cat standing a few paces away, looking tired and bruised, its head almost dragging against the pavement. It was limping slightly, favouring its hind right leg. It looked…hell, it looked like Ichigo had felt after coming back from the final war of Seireitei. Win some, lose more.

“I’m gonna call you Blue,” Ichigo said instinctively. “You’re not just some hollow, and you need a name. I don’t care if you can’t talk. Stick with me, don’t eat my family or friends, and you can leech from me all the reiryoku you need.”

The hollow didn’t bother to argue, but a mutinous glance said it still thought he was crazy. But that was okay. It meant the hollow was at least as smart as his friends, after all.

“Let’s go home.”

Ichigo walked away with a spring in his step, eyes on the sky, and very definitely didn’t smile when he heard four heavy paws begin to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

After successfully luring the enormous cat hollow to his house, Ichigo realised he hadn’t really planned on what to say or do if the rest of the family saw it. Which meant smuggling it into his house at two in the morning while everyone was asleep. Going through the window wasn’t really an option for it, since it would probably knock the glass out of its frame just fitting its giant white ass through it.

“Wait here,” Ichigo told it as they stood near the front door. “I’ll get you inside.”

The hollow—Blue, Ichigo reminded himself, he’d named it Blue—gave him a disparaging look and walked straight through the wall, because it was a hollow and they could do shit like that. Ichigo hadn’t really mastered the art of phasing through solid objects like a fucking ghost though, which left the hollow inside his house and Ichigo on the outside of it.

Naturally the next thing he heard was a piercing shriek of unbridled terror, because that was just the kind of luck he had.

“Shit,” Ichigo muttered, flash-stepping back up to his window and inside the house, accidentally stepping on Kon and half-tripping over his own body still laying in bed. “Sorry!”

“My _stuffing_ _!_ ” Kon screamed after him, but Ichigo had bigger fish to fry. He was downstairs and in the kitchen in record time, ready to defend his sisters in the pale yellow light of the refrigerator.

Kurosaki Isshin stood pressed between the contents of the fridge and its door, stark naked and trying to use it like a shield to stave off the enormous hollow sitting in front of it, just close enough to stop him getting back out. It yawned massively, showing all its sharp teeth. Isshin’s second shriek could have shattered glass.

“Dad?” Ichigo blurted, plugging his little finger into one ear to stop the ringing. “I thought you were Yuzu. Calm down, it’s just—”

“There’s a hollow in the kitchen, Ichigo! I am not calm! I’m naked! Naked as the day I was born!” The pitch of Isshin’s voice was reaching animal levels of hearing. In fact, the hollow was grimacing, but that could just as easily be to do with the sight of Isshin’s excessively hairy legs and barrel chest exposed for its viewing. “Kill it!”

Before Ichigo could so much as formulate his argument against killing the hollow, the light thunder of two sets of feet pounded down the stairs.

“What’s all the fucking noise?” Karin bellowed, scuttling in sideways with her baseball bat hauled back over her shoulder for a swing. Yuzu was behind her, holding two cans of antiperspirant deodorant out like it was mace. Isshin broke like he’d been in interrogation for a week.

“Don’t look at me, my darlings! Daddy’s frank and beans are exposed!” he cried, overwrought. “And there’s a hollow in the kitchen and your loafer brother won’t kill it!”

That earned mixed reactions of confusion and interest, since the hollow was sitting relatively placidly in the kitchen, stopping Isshin from moving. But its head was the size of a double cinder-block and it reached the height of the freezer door. Its whip-like tail rasped and thudded along the cupboards as it twitched. The look it slowly turned to give Ichigo was somewhere along the lines of ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ and well, having his family judged by an injured hollow was embarrassing on every level. Ichigo resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped forward to grab the hollow by its plated jowls and haul it away from the fridge, its huge paws skidding on the tiles.

“I’m not killing it, because it’s not going to eat anyone,” Ichigo said loudly, pretending it wasn’t snarling ferociously and trying to bite his stomach. Sucked to be it though: it might as well have tried to bite through a steel grater. He pulled it out into the living room and shooed his sisters back with one flapping elbow. Karin eyed it with some interest, but Yuzu was squinting. She’d never been able to see them as clearly, but she knew when they were nearby.

“It just looks like a big wobbly jello mould to me,” she sighed regretfully.

“It’s a big cat…thing,” Karin told her, not releasing her bat for an instant. She didn’t even play baseball anymore, Ichigo thought, which made him wonder what else was in the family closet of self-defence items. “Like a dog and a cat had sex and Satan threw their hideous baby in a tin of white paint.”

The hollow fucking reared up like it wanted to eat Karin for saying that. Ichigo smiled at his sisters as he drove his knee straight into its diaphragm, folding its bulk like fresh laundry over his shoulder. He patted its ridged back soothingly as it gasped gutturally for air. From behind the fridge door, Isshin just watched like he was witnessing the fall of his bloodline.

“Ichigo.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you want to keep a vicious hollow in the vicinity of your delicate and precious sisters?”

Ichigo stared up at the ceiling as he thought about it. “Uh…the enemy of my enemy is my friend? My big cat friend?”

Blue released a massive snorted breath over his shoulder, like even it didn’t believe that. Time to try again.

“I think it wanted me to kill it,” Ichigo said reluctantly, still half-staggering under the hollow’s massive weight. With his knee locked and one arm bracing the panther on his shoulder, he looked his father dead in the eye. “And that’s not me. Not after all that. Not after—” After he’d looked away and lost something. Ichigo’s arm tightened around the hollow’s strangely deflated flank. “Sorry, guys. I’m keeping it. But if it hurts you I’ll kill it with my own two hands. Not my zanpakutou.”

If Ichigo had been in any doubt about the hollow’s ability to understand language it was erased the moment it turned rigid at those words, catching the meaning behind his promise. He wouldn’t cleanse it if it harmed his family. He’d kill it, like a quincy would. Obliteration of the soul. When he released it to stand on its own four legs, the slitted eyes that met his were filled with a grudging sort of respect. It didn’t turn and run, and it didn’t attack. Maybe by then it knew both were futile if it wanted to live. Maybe it suddenly did.

Ichigo watched it turn to look at his family, mostly with derision but there was some acceptance there too. Til it got to his father, anyway; then its blue eyes rolled like marbles in their round white sockets.

“I don’t like the way it judges me,” Isshin said plainly, still trying to hide himself behind the door. “And—looking at the angle of those dangles, Ichigo, your new friend is male.”

“Okay, frank and beans,” Ichigo replied casually, darting his father a dry look. “Did you really just look at a hollow’s balls?”

“I’ve never seen a hollow’s testicles before, Ichigo. With that form and self-control, I think it might be adjuchas.”

“Adjacent?”

“ _Adjuchas,_ ” Karin said with emphasis, swiveling her bat to tuck backwards under her arm. “Jeez, Ichigo, you fought enough of them, why don’t you know their classes? Even Urahara taught me that much just so I knew what to run from.” Hiking up the shoulder of her t-shirt, Karin pointed right at the hollow’s face. “That’s got a brain in its head and the shape of an animal, so this is an adjuchas-class hollow. They don’t really need to eat human souls specifically, hollow will do, but they need enough spiritual energy to stop themselves going all…” She made a vague motion with her hands. “Backwards down the ladder. It’s supposed to be what makes them so dangerous: they’re still trying to make sure they don’t turn back to what they used to be.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You memorised all this from Urahara?”

Karin gave him a mutinous look, then flushed red.

“L-look, I just paid attention!”

Yuzu stepped forward from behind Karin, putting her deodorant cans on the floor with a dull clank. Lost as ever in the half-conversations between them when Ichigo was in his shinigami form, she reached out like a blind girl toward what probably just looked like a wobbling translucent shape and little else.

“I’ve never met a tame hollow before,” she said faintly, squinting at the shape that made up the hollow—the adjuchas. “Can I touch it?”

“Better not,” Ichigo said hastily, stepping between them both. Yuzu could only half-hear him most of the time, but her senses usually filled in those static blanks. “It’s kind of wild. It might not attack but it could still hurt you if you try to touch…it?” His sentence rose up in a questioning lilt as the hollow slid around him, smooth as silk, and padded over to his sister without a single hesitation. Circling Yuzu once, twice, it finally butted its huge head against her shoulder, rubbing it on the curve of her arm like it was satisfying an itch.

Yuzu stood in stunned silence for a long moment, rocked slightly by the mostly-invisible pressure pushing against her shoulder. Her mouth gaped, but nothing came out for a few seconds.

“Dad, we’re keeping it,” she whispered finally, her hand fumbling to touch the hollow’s wide face. “We are keeping this big blob.”

Everyone paused a little at the resolution in her voice, Ichigo included. Yuzu had never really been able to see hollows. They’d attacked her a few times, but she’d forcibly forgotten most of it. She sensed spirits nearby but couldn’t quite make them out, like a gauze curtain fell between her and them. They all knew it was something that bothered her, like she was lacking the family trait in some intrinsic way, but Yuzu dismissed any mention of it so thoroughly that nobody knew how to really broach it. Til the hollow cat butted up against her, its sharp eyes locked on Ichigo’s the entire time. A physical connection with the girl that carried the most authoritative weight in the household.

Good instincts, Ichigo thought reluctantly, already hearing his father sigh and ask for the dish-towel so he could cover himself and get his ass out of the dairy shelf. But it had ended the fuss pretty quickly, and Karin seemed more curious about it than violent. Yuzu was obliviously patting the hollow’s rump by then, having no idea which end was which after it tried to walk away. She just laughed when its tail whapped her across the head and knocked her to the floor. How easily they adapted to new strangeness in their lives.

Isshin ended up ushering the girls to bed, on pain of indecent exposure. Ichigo couldn’t fathom why he thought it would be a good idea to sneak out for a midnight snack wearing nothing but an unnerving mat of body hair, but it was probably going to be the last time he ever tried it. Blue gave Isshin a thoroughly disgusted look when he finally exited the kitchen, throwing the dish-towel in the sink the moment Yuzu and Karin were gone. Isshin’s expression was uncharacteristically sober as he stared the hollow down.

“You’re in a house with two shinigami, a girl with a deep well of insults and another so pure it brings tears to my eyes.” His eyes were steely with intent. “If you’re going to kill someone, make sure it’s Ichigo.”

“What the hell, Dad.”

“I mean it.” He held out a hand to the hollow. “Make it a gentleman’s agreement.”

Blue looked at him.

Isshin looked back.

Ichigo slapped his father’s hand away before he could get bitten.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Ichigo held up his sluggishly bleeding arm. The puncture wounds looked especially gross in the half-light coming from the hall. “You mind doing that kidou healing thing for me?”

“Look at that,” Isshin said, grabbing his arm to examine it closely. “It’s a tough bastard to be able to get its teeth through you. Good thing adjuchas only eat other hollows, or you’d be in trouble.”

Watching the soft light of a kidou spell envelop his arm, Ichigo decided not to tell his father that the wound was basically self-inflicted.

After that, all there was to do was go upstairs and inform Kon that he was no longer the only cat-shaped creature in the house. It went relatively well, in the sense that Blue didn’t attack him, and Kon couldn’t actually shit himself in horror.

“Well,” Kon said finally, shaking all over and brandishing a pencil, “I guess this avoids the painful break-up conversation I was going to have with you.”

Ichigo blinked. “The what? We’re breaking up?”

“I can’t sleep in here anymore, Ichigo.” Kon dropped the pencil with sad finality. “It’s over. Your insomnia is driving me insane. And this—” he waved at Blue, who was creeping toward the bed with fixed, interested eyes, “—this is clearly a cry for help. I know you’re sad that arrancar died, but adopting a monster isn’t going to fix anything!”

In the corner of Ichigo’s eye, Blue froze with one powerful paw still raised in a half-step. Embarrassment burned in his chest, barely masking the lurch of memory the words elicited. Kon always heard, saw and understood too damn much.

“It’s just a hard time sleeping,” Ichigo insisted through clenched teeth. “And I’m not adopting anything, I just didn’t want to leave it out there. Go sleep in Yuzu’s room then if you’re so desperate for a decent night’s rest; I hope you wake up in fishnets and fake eyelashes!” Emboldened by his hurt anger, Ichigo grabbed Kon and punted him out of the room, slamming the door shut on a barrage of cussing. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t fucking sleep. Ichigo would give anything to have a solid night’s sleep. Breathing a little harshly, he turned and hoped to hell the hollow didn’t have enough brains in its head to know what had just happened.

But Blue was sniffing his vacant body on the bed, darting short, disturbed glances between Ichigo and the limp thing half-covered with sheets. Nosing his body’s head curiously, Blue skittered back to the wardrobe when it bonelessly rolled back to one side, eyes half-open and showing white. The look the hollow gave Ichigo was appalled.

“I’m actually human,” he told it, sighing a little. “I’m just a substitute shinigami. That’s my body. I leave it behind when I patrol for hollows. The…stuffed animal was Kon. He’s a mod soul, but he thinks he’s my therapist. He’ll leave you alone, so don’t eat him.”

Narrowed blue eyes seemed to doubt him, but the hollow took two strides back to the bed and resumed sniffing his comatose body like it was fresh catnip. Ichigo had to get back into his body, but for a moment he hung back near the closed door and really just looked at his new houseguest for the first time since their introduction on the street.

Blue’s white bulk made his bedroom seem even smaller. He was built stocky and strong, but tapering legs and the coiled snap of his long tail softened the brute strength into something a little more graceful. Adjuchas, huh, Ichigo thought as it craned its neck froward over his body’s chest, eyes burning bright with fierce interest. Then it did something entirely strange.

The hollow jumped up onto the bed, its weight making the steel frame groan a little under the strain, and sprawled on Ichigo’s body like it was a living heat pack. It dropped its chin comfortably to one exposed shoulder and squinted lazily, like it was starting to go to sleep.

Ichigo freaked out.

“No! Get off! I need that for—” for what? “—that’s my body, damn it, you can’t sit on it!”

Blue just made a throaty, coughing sort of sound that might have been a laugh. Its claws flexed gently in the sheets, popping through the cotton like it was tissue paper. It would go through his human skin like butter, Ichigo thought with a flash of nausea. If the hollow bit it, tore its throat out, Ichigo would be stuck as a shinigami forever. Well, unless he used a play from his father’s book and got himself a gigai. Hmm. He watched as the hollow gave a massive yawn, its barbed pink tongue curling, then pushed its bone-white nose into the mattress near his body’s throat and closed its eyes.

It looked so comfortable and relaxed that Ichigo’s indignation evaporated on the spot, replaced by an unfurling bloom of sympathy.

“Just…make sure it can breathe and you don’t cut off the blood supply,” Ichigo said finally, feeling strangely weak at the sight. The hollow had clearly been injured before Ichigo came across it, but watching the way it peacefully cuddled up to his body and went to sleep made it seem like Kon’s ‘terrifying monster hollow’ was really just exhausted and finding the first safe haven in miles and miles. Whatever transient shinigami tended to make of his bedroom, maybe one hollow could use it too. It wasn’t like he desperately needed to get into his body, anyway. Sleep was kind of a joke by that point.

Instead Ichigo backed himself against his sliding wardrobe door and sat, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the cool laminate as he listened to the hollow’s long, even breaths swell and ebb in the darkness of his room. The moonlight filtering through the open window made the white bone plates almost glow.

What a weird night.

Ichigo hadn’t had one of those in a while.

He must have rested his eyes, because it felt like only a moment had passed before Ichigo jerked like he’d been electrocuted, seeing too many eyeballs on the darkness inside his eyelids. His heels cracked against the floorboards. Gasping, he thought he saw a curling wave of blue hair pass by his blind gaze. His calloused fingers flexed for a sword he wasn’t holding. Paralysed for an instant, it took all he had to hunch forward and pull himself out of the dream.

“Shit, oh fuck,” Ichigo panted, his heart racing. It was his room. He was in his room. He’d fallen asleep against the wall was all. " _Fuck._ " The breath he pulled in choked his throat. Sweat was cold on the back of his neck.

Breath like a desert wind blew against the crown of his head.

Zangetsu’s short-sword was pulled from his waist without thinking, whipped across the throat of the hollow leaning in before its teeth could get anywhere near him. Unfolding in a ferocious rush, Ichigo shoved it onto its hind legs and ran it against the opposite wall, the blade shoved against the black fur around its neck.

Breath tearing in his throat, Ichigo stared wildly into the hollow cat’s face. Its eyes were showing white, paws hanging uselessly, weighed down by something. Reiatsu, Ichigo realised with a sick rush of bile. His reiatsu was smothering it. Stepping back like he’d been burned, he clumsily sheathed his sword and backed up against the wardrobe again. Blue sank back down onto all fours with a soft thud, but didn’t move. Ichigo didn’t look up from the press of his hands against his face, half-yanking his hair out by the roots.

He really needed to sort out the sleep thing.

“Don’t surprise me in this form when I look like I’m sleeping,” he finally croaked, like the hollow would even consider staying with some psycho shinigami after that mess. “Sorry. This might have been a bad idea.”

Breathing warmly into the safer darkness of his hands, Ichigo tried to get his shit in order. During the daytime he was fine. Everything was normal. But sleep was a disaster, and all the long conversations with Urahara and Chad and Inoue and Ishida couldn’t settle his mind. At least when he was in his body he couldn’t attack anyone. Sleeping in his shinigami form was obviously and indefinitely off the cards.

A loud thump startled Ichigo a little. Sliding his fingers away, he squinted at Blue, who had yanked his body by its arm onto the floor, face-down with its ass stuck in the air. A swipe of one massive black paw sent the body sliding across the floor to bang into Ichigo’s shins. The blue feline gaze that met his was determinedly disinterested, but its ears were pricked up in attention.

The hollow was giving his body back. Roughly, and not in excellent shape, but Blue was telling him to get back in his body. And—not leaving, Ichigo realised with mild wonder, watching it dart back into its comfortable position on his bed. It (he?) took up the entire thing in length, and seemed to especially like the pillow for rubbing its head on, judging by the attention it was paying it as Ichigo reached down for his body and merged himself with it. The vertigo hit in him a rush as his view of his own body became a view of the ceiling, and he pushed off the floor with arms that were sore from the impact. He’d gone to bed in only sweatpants, which were no protection at all.

“Move over,” Ichigo muttered at the hollow, shoving its shoulder to slide it toward the wall. The outrage in its snarly face was ridiculous. “This is my bed, whether I can sleep in it properly or not. You’re officially stronger than me right now anyway, so just enjoy these moments while they last.”

Blue’s ears swivelled madly as it stared at him, absorbing that new knowledge. Eventually, it tucked one rounded hind leg in under itself and angled away slightly, watching him with hard, calculating eyes. Ichigo just half-rolled onto the bed until he could face the wardrobe, grimacing as a dry nose immediately started sniffing the back of his head for changes.

“This is my body,” he said flatly without opening his eyes, “not your plushie. If I wake up without a foot or something I will kill you with seven pencils and my alarm clock.” The nose drew away immediately, which Ichigo counted as a win until a tongue that could strip paint ran backwards up through his hair. “You fucker.”

The hollow gave another throaty cough, only it went on until Ichigo’s irritation faded into some faint amusement of his own. Bastard actually thought he was hilarious.

“Go to sleep, asshole.”

The only reply was the stinging whip of its tail across Ichigo’s ankles, hard enough to bruise.

Whatever.

* * *

 

It took until dawn for Kurosaki to truly sleep, muscles finally unwinding into something that wasn’t tense, jerking twitches and the occasional garbled word or two.

Grimmjow watched him struggle the entire time, unblinking in the darkness.

Well, it was official: Kurosaki Ichigo was even more fucked up than he was. And considering Grimmjow was currently a four-legged adjuchas panther with a set time limit between meals before he dissolved back into a gillian, that was saying a whole fucking hell of a lot. What a load of shit. Kurosaki was a straight-up god when it came to his reiryoku, and there he was whimpering in his damn sleep like all the worst devils were inside his own head.

It was more than a let-down. But…it was also kind of good to know that the ginger shithead really was clueless and merciful to everything he met. It took some of the sting out of their epic battle back in the day. Turned out the dumbass really did just prefer not to kill. Stupid, stupid, stupid piece of shit, with a stupid family and stupid sisters and a stupid, hairy father.

Well, maybe not him.

That guy had taken one look at Grimmjow in the kitchen and raised his fingers in a familiar kidou formation that said his life was about to end in blue fire, when his grizzled face had turned in the direction of Kurosaki’s reiatsu outside. Then he’d just started screaming like a bitch instead. Whoever Kurosaki’s father was, whatever he was, it wasn’t as dumb as the rest of them.

The whole night had really gone to hell, Grimmjow thought glumly, watching Kurosaki’s side rise and fall with soft breaths. He’d only turned up in Karakura in the hopes a shinigami would total him before Hueco Mundo’s minute adjuchas population could finish him off, but instead he’d found Kurosaki looking like all his fuckin’ birthdays had come at once. Was he some kind of cat fetishist? Is that why he’d rubbed the top of his head like that? Sick freak.

Still, Grimmjow thought reluctantly, leaning in to nose at the nape of Kurosaki’s vulnerable neck, the stuffed bear had said something about missing a dead arrancar. Maybe Nelliel really had done her part and told everyone he hadn’t survived. But more likely some other arrancar had bitten the dust. There wasn’t a creature dead or alive who would miss Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. He’d seen to it himself.

He drew back as Kurosaki gave a short shudder of unease, legs twitching against some unseen enemy. His breathing was growing short and panicked.

What a fuckin’ mess, Grimmjow thought, and against all his self-imposed rules and resentment, pulled up an old instinct that still lay deep in the depths of his adjuchas throat. He started to purr like the rumble of thunder, like fat raindrops on a tin roof, like—

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurosaki rasped, reaching back to elbow him in the side. “Annoying asshole.”

Grimmjow waited in outraged silence until Kurosaki was back in the deep cradle of sleep before he finally cracked his jaws for the first time in a year.

“Ungrateful dick.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sunshine was weakly pressing through the bedroom curtains when Ichigo finally awoke, feeling like there was sand in his eyes. His whole body felt stiff and sore. Grunting to himself, he pushed off the mattress and rolled over, hoping to at least get another hour or so before he was forced out into the world. It felt like he’d barely shut his eyes at all.

Burrowing his head into the pillow, Ichigo stiffened when he felt firm, sleek sinew under his cheek instead of the expected softness.

Oh.

Oh crap.

Ichigo’s eyes snapped open with dread, seeing exactly what his worst case scenario had mentally provided. He was sleeping on a hollow’s enormous black paw. And above it, a single glaring blue eye was watching him like it wasn’t sure whether to vivisect him or simply chew his face off.

Rigid with anticipation, Ichigo knew there was no way he could move in time to fight it back. His head was still on its paw. Should he move? Or would moving break the spell? Eyes wide and fixed, he waited for the hollow to do something as his bladder abruptly decided that being awake was reason enough to start demanding attention.

It didn’t look like Blue had moved from its original spot the entire night. Still obnoxiously sprawled lengthwise with its giant head taking up the pillow, Ichigo had been left with a small sliver of the mattress for himself and absolutely zero headspace. It explained why he’d been using its paw, but not why the hollow had been letting him. What had happened to the furious, snarling cat from the night before? Maybe it was just lulling him into a false sense of security.

Ichigo must have taken too long to do something because Blue’s stare dulled into boredom, and without ceremony it shoved its muzzle back into his pillow and shut its eyes. Against his better judgement, and definitely against his survival instincts, Ichigo decided that was just as good as tacit permission to study it up close. After all, they had just managed to share the bed without either getting injured or bitten, right? Reaching out gingerly, careful to watch its ears and eyes for indication it might go apeshit, he pressed light fingertips to the side of its white-plated face.

Slitted feline eyes snapped back open in shock. Ichigo ignored it and pressed his entire palm to its cheek. Did cats have cheeks? Why didn’t he know anything about cats? The hollow just stared at the bed frame with blank, disturbed eyes as he tested the hard armour that covered the side of its face, sweeping down slowly toward its furred neck. His blunt nails made small thudding sounds as they dragged over the separations of hard plating over its shoulders. It was like one whole mask, spread over its body like armour. Segmented like an exoskeleton so it could walk and stretch, but still a plain suit of armour that left the furry black sections exposed along with its leathery white muzzle. Ichigo had always been told that the hollow mask was there to hide the identity and the shame of the tormented soul behind it. What did it mean when the mask was all over it, identity long gone in place of an animal form?

The hollow was darting him quick, almost nervous glances out of the corner of its eye. Its claws were unsheathed, punching into the mattress like a clenched fist. But the paw under Ichigo’s cheek wasn’t flexed the same way. Realising he was freaking out an honest-to-god _hollow_ _,_ one of the most terrifying creatures known to the spirit world, he pulled his hand away and sat up to rub his face tiredly, legs swinging over the edge of the bed.

“Please just bite me the next time I try to do that.”

There was no point in trying to sleep further; even without the hollow there Ichigo knew he had no chance of that happening. Glancing toward the end of the bed, he watched the hollow’s stupidly long tail twitch and flick gently. Weren’t they supposed to lash and snap around when they were angry or upset? Turning back to the bed, he saw that Blue was staring at him a little but otherwise didn’t seem like it was having a crisis. Almost like he could—

Do not touch the hollow again, Ichigo told himself with great strength and resolve. Even if it’d probably let you. Shinigami didn’t pet hollows, not even hollows who might get used to it. After all, it used to be some guy, didn’t it? He was looking right at the remnants of some angry, blue-eyed guy who liked fighting him.

Ichigo sagged a little. Maybe Kon was onto something. But that hadn’t had anything to do with why he’d convinced the giant cat hollow to come with him. Not a damn thing. He just hadn’t wanted to kill it, and hadn’t been able to leave it behind.

“I need a shower,” Ichigo muttered, done with self-analysis for the morning. And hopefully the month. The entire year would be great. Fucking Kon. “Then I guess we try the family thing again and hope Dad’s wearing pants. Don’t terrify them until I’m clean and dressed.” Getting up, he grabbed some random jeans and a t-shirt and left for cleaner pastures.

It wasn’t until he was under the warm spray of the shower that he really began to wake up and run through the entire night. Usually he woke up a few times after he fell asleep, but it must have taken him too long to get there because he’d stayed mostly unconscious for the few hours he’d managed. There was a vague memory of some kind of rumbling sound the hollow made, but that was it. Mostly it had just been him backed up on his side against a bony cat hollow, probably snoring. It had left him fuck-all room to move though, so his muscles really appreciated the pressure of the shower on his skin. He felt like an old man, but months of sleep deprivation accumulating on his body were probably wearing him down the most.

Ichigo was working a good lather of shampoo up in his hair and staring blankly at the condensation on the tiles when he turned slightly and saw the hollow staring at him. All of him.

His first thought was that he hadn’t shut the curtain. His second was that it had walked through the walls again, completely ignoring the laws of physics and privacy. His third thought was that the hollow came almost up to his chest, and natural line of downward sight meant its gaze was looking straight at his dick. It didn’t look impressed, either.

Fingers still caught in the soapy tangles of his hair, Ichigo had a moment in which to absolutely lose his shit but it ticked by while he was still wondering why the hollow had walked on in when it knew he was showering. Unless it was some kind of pervert, or hoping for him to panic, slip and ultimately crack his skull open. Well, hell with that. Lifting his chin, ignoring the hollow’s glaring blue eyes, Ichigo tilted his head back under the spray and let the water rinse out his hair. Who even cared what some cat thought—

“Ahh!” Ichigo almost skidded on the suds rinsing out of his hair as Blue forced its way into the shower recess, butting its head against the small of Ichigo’s back until he was pushed out naked into the cold air, toes curling in the towel he’d placed on the floor. Shivering and shocked, his only true reaction was anger. “Fucking what? This is my shower! Wait your fucking turn, you fatass cat!” Without preamble he threw himself back into the thankfully over-sized shower, where Blue’s face was tipped blissfully to the water. It meant slinging a leg over its back and getting kinda stuck like that because there wasn’t that much room, but Kurosaki Ichigo didn’t just get muscled out of a good shower because his balls were touching hollow-plate, oh no.

Realising there was a shinigami straddling him, Blue whipped its head around and snarled. Ichigo snarled right back and reached for the conditioner.

“Either wait til I’m done or suck it up, asshole. Your choice.” He squirted a long stripe of conditioner down the hollow’s back like a brand before continuing with his own routine, entirely giving the impression he was comfortable with the situation. “Nobody interrupts my shower.”

Blue didn’t actually attack, which to him said their power dynamic had been established. Maybe. Eventually it even gave Ichigo enough room to get off its back, though it meant the hollow had to curve its body in an uncomfortable C-shape. Ignoring its mammoth form like it wasn’t even there, Ichigo rinsed his slick and newly-silky hair and stepped out, feeling as clean and triumphant as any shinigami who’d just showered with a hollow and won.

He’d just grabbed his towel and was about to rub himself dry when the hollow behind him made a noise. Don’t turn around, Ichigo told himself. Don’t turn around, just dry off and leave it there. You don’t need to babysit the damn—

Ichigo turned around and immediately felt himself cave.

The water drumming down on Blue’s broad head and back was washing off rivulets of cloudy brown detritus from between its plating and off its hard segments of armour. Which was good, except there were a lot of gaps where the water couldn’t reach, and being plated like that Ichigo could tell it didn’t have the flexibility to clean itself like any other cat. So it just stood there, stiff and cramped and snarling under the water, even though it was clearly trying to angle itself under the hardest spray and failing. Watching it hesitantly for a moment, feeling like he was seeing some sort of weakness in action, Ichigo sighed inaudibly and grabbed the washcloth from the basin sink.

“We don’t ever speak of this,” Ichigo said needlessly, and grabbed his preferred shower gel. The only alternative was the one his dad used, and waking up to that scent in his bedroom would give him more trauma than before. Dumping a huge palmful of the pale soap into his cloth-covered hand, Ichigo bent and started scrubbing into the hollow’s segments and plates in short, clinical strokes of the cloth. He wasn’t gentle about it, or particularly happy to be crouched naked and still wet half-outside the shower while he cleaned an angry hollow, but he was thorough, making sure to get as much between the plates as he scrubbed the short black fur that graced its neck, ears and feet. There was even a little nub of it on the end of its tail, which Ichigo brutally grabbed and rubbed with the cloth like a jeweller shining up a raw diamond. Satisfied he’d gotten everything mostly clean, even its belly and the inside of its hind legs, Ichigo figured it could look after its own family jewels and pulled back to admire his sparkling white handiwork.

Blue was heaving breaths like a dying thing, sides swelling and sinking like it had just run ten miles. Its tail was sticking straight up in the air like a poker, breath trilling slightly in its throat. The look it swung to Ichigo was delirious with pleasure.

“You’re welcome,” Ichigo said flatly, flinging the cloth into the shower and grabbing his towel. He turned off the water in a quick twist of the tap. “Let’s never do this again.” Finally seeing to his own business, he dried off and rubbed the lingering water from his clean hair with the towel, coughing in the extra humidity of the small bathroom. Isshin had given the family a half-bath, a double shower and terrible exhaust fans, so shoving open the small narrow window at the top of the wall was the only respite from the steam that gathered. By the time Ichigo had done that, the hollow had wandered out through the wall again, probably leaving wet footprints everywhere. Great.

For what was starting to feel like the millionth time, Ichigo wondered what had become of his life.

* * *

 

“First order of business,” Ichigo said firmly, snapping a thin strip of leather out between his hands, “is you have to wear a collar.”

Blue looked up from idly licking its paw in the middle of the bedroom, took one look at the belt Ichigo was holding and ran for the fucking hills. Expecting the reaction, Ichigo bolted back through his own door, onto the landing and threw himself over the staircase and half-tumbled his way down to meet the hollow on the bottom landing, half-panting and grinning all over his face. Skidding on all fours, the hollow roared in messy anger and crashed right into him. At least it smelled nice, Ichigo thought as he went down like a sack of shit, rolling to get a leg over the hollow and lassoing it with the belt. It wasn’t for proprietary ownership or anything, but Yuzu still had trouble seeing hollows and at the very least, seeing Ichigo’s old silver-studded black leather belt floating around the house would give her due warning it was in the area. Unfortunately, collars had that old world pet and prisoner thing attached to them, so he couldn’t begrudge Blue the fight.

He had the belt around Blue’s neck and was struggling to get the notch secured when Karin walked down the stairs, idly scratching her left tit and frowning at them both.

“Kinky,” she yawned, leaping nimbly over them both to head for the kitchen, a thumb tucked under her pyjama shorts to yank them out of her ass as she walked.

“Wear a bra,” Ichigo called after her, receiving an over the shoulder middle finger in return. Kids these days. Karin used to actually be a cute kid. Well, maybe. The upside was, the confusion had frozen Blue long enough that Ichigo yanked the tongue of the belt and had it notched in place before it knew what was happening. Proudly, he tucked it through the loop and rotated it so that the buckle was below the centre of Blue’s throat, not too tight or loose. “Welcome to the family.”

Blue realised what had happened to its neck just in time to fold like fresh laundry and absolutely crush Ichigo beneath him. Almost in recompense, it started grooming his freshly washed hair with its disgustingly rough tongue, pushing it all upward in long, sandpaper strokes.

“Fucker,” Ichigo muttered, but mostly submitted to the weird ritual, partly curious to see where the hell it would lead. He’d never seen a hollow cat before, and definitely not a mute hollow before. If it didn’t want to kill him, what did it want to do? Style his damn hair? “You’re the worst. After all I’ve done for you.” It took another thirty seconds before the hollow was finished, its rasping sounds and abuse of his scalp trailing off in favour of a critical eye cast over his head. Then it got up and walked away like nothing had happened.

Ichigo ran a hand through the damp spikes of his hair and fell back against the floorboards.

Like hell he was showering again.

* * *

 

The next hurdle came when the hollow decided it wanted to go hunting for its next meal. In broad daylight. It was doable, and Ichigo wasn’t really sure how often something like it needed to eat before it was in danger of changing back, but hollows weren’t exactly clamouring to come out during the day anymore. They waited until they had the cover of darkness on their side, which meant slim pickings for Blue until sunset at least.

“I’m just saying, there’s not much out there.” He’d been trying for the last half hour to get through to it, going far enough to bodily corral it in the living room. Its tail was lashing angrily, but it hadn’t phased through the walls again. “They’d be barely a mouthful of reiryoku for something like you. Just—can’t you eat some of mine? Or does it have to be a hollow’s soul for the regression thing?” Blue just bared its teeth angrily, unable to answer two questions but the answer seemed to be ‘fuck off’ anyway. Ichigo sighed.

There were probably some ethical questions to be asked about helping a hollow chew on its brethren, since it essentially added the power to its own and the conquered hollow ceased to exist. But Ichigo was also friends with a quincy, which was kind of the same thing. The thought of Ishida; weird, guilty, almost helped end Soul Society completely Ishida gave him a sudden idea.

“Hold that thought,” Ichigo said rapidly to his mute companion, folding his legs to thump down on the couch. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he thumbed down through his meagre list of contacts until he found the one he was after. “I know someone who’s been dying for the chance to do me a favour, and I’m not above using him for this.” He tapped out a brief text.

_Remember that time you tried to kill me in a hollow competition and summoned a menos grande by accident?_

Annnnnd sent. Ishida was usually shadowing his father in the hospital so he probably wouldn’t get back to him for—

 **[glasses]** : _I DID NOT TRY TO KILL YOU but yes, I do recall that day. Why?_

Ichigo smiled.

_Got any of that hollow bait left?_

Ishida seemed to take forever to figure out what his reply was going to be, judging by the bubble that kept starting and stopping on the bottom of his screen. Then:

 **[glasses]** : _Give me an hour to lose Ryuuken. You’re home, right?_

_Yeah. Bring an open mind with you._

**[glasses]** : _I intend to._

“Weirdly ominous, but okay.” Looking over at Blue, Ichigo waved his phone at it. “I have a quincy friend who has a stash of hollow bait. I saw it in action once: it summoned a menos. I was so green back then I almost shit myself at the sight. Couldn’t even kill it, just drove it back.” Biting down a smile, he watched the hollow’s ears perk up in interest at his story. It even prowled forward on silent feet to look at his phone, like the gillian was in there somewhere. Opportunistic and unashamed, Ichigo gave Blue a long pet from the top of its head to the base of its tail and didn’t even get nipped, just stared at with watchful, vibrant blue eyes. “You can eat something that big if it shows up, right?”

This time, its teeth were bared in something more like a razor-sharp smile.

“Thought so. Give it an hour.”

With nothing to do but kill time until Ishida arrived, Ichigo flipped on the TV and settled back. Blue just watched him for a long moment, tail snapping back and forth almost thoughtfully. Then it lunged forward and sat on the couch—and Ichigo’s thighs.

“Why?” Ichigo asked blankly as a couple hundred pounds of muscle and bone landed on him for the second time that morning. “You bit me last night and now you’re sitting on me? Do you have any idea how massive you are?” It was really, really heavy, but Ichigo’s body wasn’t exactly human-levels of durability anymore, so at best he just kind of grunted a little and jiggled his legs into a more comfortable position. Figured the only thing that wanted to sit on his lap was a massive cat-shaped hollow. Its entire upper body was covering his legs, strong shoulders rolling a little as huge sable paws popped holes in the worn fabric of the couch, kneading into the cushions. When it spotted Ichigo watching, a head almost the size of a bar fridge butted into his chest. It was…happy. Because it was going to eat hollows? Because he was helping? Why was it in his lap though? Would it bite him if he petted it again?

Ichigo tried unsuccessfully to remind himself that the predatory cat in his lap was actually the soul of some human guy that ate a whole bunch of other guys to get stronger. He had a dude in his lap. A dude rubbing itself up on his chest. A dude had been licking his hair before. He’d washed a naked dude in the shower—okay, that one wasn’t helpful. None of that was helpful. It was a cat. The alternative was confronting. And, it wasn’t like he was directly opposed to guys either. It didn’t do anyone good to place themselves in a box, right?

“I’m having a sexual crisis,” Ichigo whispered to himself, “with a hollow in my lap.”

Blue’s head slowly swung to stare at him, rounded eyes wide and pupils shivering in the morning light. Its mouth was hanging open slightly, exposing its lower canines. Ichigo refused to cringe.

“Not you, asshole. I’m not into pussy—I mean, cats! And not hollows, because that’s—like, dead people, right?” When it just continued to stare, Ichigo finally weakened. “Shut up, I was thinking out loud. About something else.”

“Uh-huh,” said a new voice from behind him, uncharacteristically bland and obviously, vastly amused. “Ichigo, if you’re having an awakening, I, your loving father, am here for all your questions.”

“Kill him,” Ichigo whispered to Blue, who glanced at Isshin and seemed to hunch in on itself a little. “Oh, fuck you.”

“That’s illegal, Ichigo,” Isshin said without missing a beat. Giving Blue a rough sort of pat on the head, he swung his legs over the couch and sat down beside Ichigo, far enough from the hollow that claws wouldn’t scratch him. He raised an important, lecturing finger in the air. “Section two-hundred and forty-seven point eight in the seireitei shinigami code of conduct: a shinigami may not engage in sexual congress with a hollow unless given official sanction by the substantive or acting captain-commander of the gotei 13, lest he have his status revoked and shame cast upon his family name for all time.” Frowning at Blue, then up at Ichigo, he shrugged. “But that only counts if someone can prove it happened, and the cat is mute.”

“Dad, I’m not attracted to Blue,” Ichigo said with masterful self-control, because Blue was looking at him like he was some kind of pervert. “I’m not attracted to anything, and I am definitely not having sex with a hollow. I was thinking out loud.” When Isshin just made an accepting sort of sound in his throat, Ichigo’s mind raced for something that might make sense to his nosy father. “Did the code of conduct ever specify between regular hollow and Aizen’s arrancar?”

Isshin blinked hard. “You mean like that espada you lost?”

The room shrank and trembled at the edges of Ichigo’s vision.

Ichigo swallowed. “Ex-espada,” he said steadily. Across his lap, Blue went rigid. “And I didn’t lose him. Grimmjow died fighting the sternritter, saving Urahara’s life. And Yoruichi. And her brother. I didn’t lose him. He just…”

“That’s enough, Ichigo,” Isshin said. A warm, fatherly palm fell to grip his shoulder in a comforting squeeze. “I heard the story. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

“No. It’s okay.” Knowing his tone was dull, Ichigo forced himself to perk up, smiling a little as he pushed his hands against Blue’s plated side. “I should stop dwelling on it, anyway. I just—” He tried to keep the question in, he really did, but it swelled in his throat like poison, “do you think he blamed me, before he died? For being the reason he joined us to begin with? Is that something a hollow would do? Blame me?” Trying to keep his smile genuine, he darted his father a look, but it shook at the open compassion that looked back at him.

“Oh, Ichigo,” Isshin said softly. “Who could ever blame you? You’re Masaki’s boy: all you’ve ever done in nineteen short years is try to protect what you care about.” A big hand reached up to cradle the back of his skull, pushing through the stiff spikes of his hair. “We can’t be everywhere, all the time. Your arrancar fought to get to you. Even if he didn’t make it, don’t you owe it to him to push on?”

“I just—” His throat one long ache, Ichigo swallowed. Blue’s side was one blurry white smear. “It didn’t feel finished, Dad. I was counting on him. I wanted to fight him. The best damn fight of my life was in that desert. I know it was all to save Inoue but Grimmjow was just so…he got me healed, Dad, he broke her out to heal me so we could fight one on one as equals. Aizen’s espada.” He snorted, blunt nails dragging down Blue’s side. “I don’t think he was Aizen’s anything.”

“Good,” Isshin replied starkly, scratching his hand through Ichigo’s hair. “Aizen was an asshole. Four-eyed bastard.”

Blue gave a coughing sort of laugh, maybe. Mostly the hollow was staring blankly at the opposite wall like the secrets of the universe were written there. Blinking the clouds out of his eyes, Ichigo sniffed and cleared his throat, rubbing his hand idly over the scratchy black velvet of its neck. It was probably bored from all the bullshit they’d been talking.

“Good talk, Dad. Let’s…never do this again.”

“Hm,” Isshin replied, hesitating a little as he shifted forward, about to shove himself to his feet. “I know we tend to bottle ourselves up, Ichigo, but whether it’s me or that hollow you’ve bonded with, try to get it out of your system now and then. You could use a good night’s sleep.”

“I’d rather just get it fed and safe,” Ichigo said, feeling purpose fire his ribs for the first time in a year. “I have no idea what it’s doing here, but…is this what people mean by projecting?”

“Yes.” Isshin didn’t mince words.

“I’m okay with it.”

“And if Soul Society decides to send shinigami to put it down?”

Ichigo looked at Blue clearly for the first time since Isshin had sat beside him. The hollow slowly turned its head to stare right back, with its white nose and leathery muzzle and miles of glistening sharp teeth. And those eyes. Those unforgiving, slitted blue eyes that glared straight through all his layers of armour to the mess left underneath. He’d only known it twelve hours, and he’d been asleep for a few of those, but suddenly and irrevocably Ichigo knew if anything came to kill it, well, he’d—

“I’ll draw both swords,” Ichigo said slowly, dragging two fingertips down Blue’s broad nose. “Because hollow doesn’t always mean enemy.” He lifted his eyes to Isshin, who was giving him a slightly perplexed, mostly proud smile.

“Now you’re showing a little of me in you.”

“Don’t take credit.”

“Okay.”

Staring between them both, Blue’s pupils bloomed open into ink-dark pools, like it was trying to capture as much of them as possible in one long glance. Two shinigami talking about protecting a random hollow probably would look strange, Ichigo thought fondly. But if Grimmjow was going to have one legacy, it might as well be the stray he picked up by accident, wanting a fight but gaining a friend.

Tilting its head, Blue eventually exhaled a huge breath and nosed at Ichigo’s stomach, seeming truly tired for the first time since they’d encountered each other. Or maybe like it had finally relaxed. With a hard roll of its heavy bulk, Blue turned in toward his stomach and closed its eyes, paws twitching gently with an instinct to knead at air.

Ichigo didn’t really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> won't u take me to
> 
> to furry town


	4. Chapter 4

Grimmjow was thinking seriously about biting Kurosaki’s leg off.

Not because he wanted to or anything, but because the scales between them had begun to tip in the direction of the unnatural. Going home with Kurosaki? Fine. Sleep in the same bed? Bit weird, but who gave a fuck. Showering had been a sin against the natural order in every single fucking way—and something Grimmjow was absolutely on board for again. Kurosaki had some amazing fuckin’ hands.

But the scales had kept tipping, weighed down by shit like wearing a damn collar for the moron. Like sprawling across Kurosaki’s lap to soak up his reiryoku instead of just sitting in some kind of reasonable proximity, just so he’d feel a warm hand scrub through the short fur of his neck. Like letting himself breathe in deeply enough to know the salty-wet scent in the air from the gloss of Kurosaki’s eyes was finally gone. They’d stopped talking about him twenty minutes ago, thank fuck. After that Grimmjow had slunk away with his back bowed, kind of wanting to stay where he’d been but too irritated by his own reaction to their words. Talking like he was some kind of noble tragedy, just ‘cause he’d wanted Kurosaki healed whole before he gutted him. Just ‘cause he’d come into the tail end of a fight and ripped some chatty sternritter’s heart out.

Stupid sentiment was all it was. Last thing he’d done in Kurosaki’s sight was let that ball-slinging dickhead get away. He’d ditched Kurosaki and his gang of losers and gone running after the sternritter. That was Kurosaki’s last memory of him, and he actually harped on about wanting to fight him like he’d promised. Thought about whether Grimmjow blamed him. Why the fuck would he blame him? Nobody had put a knife to his throat. Kurosaki had been there, so he’d gone to find him. Simple.

Simple.

 _I was counting on him._ Kurosaki’s words. Realising he’d actually meant more than some forgotten fight in Las Noches back in the day had been a shock. Grimmjow knew he could be single-minded about shit, and his defeat had turned into some kind of blistering obsession with the ginger asshole, but finding out Kurosaki had been counting on their eventual fight—even looked forward to it—was too fucking much. What was he supposed to do with that information, a year late and two rungs back down the evolutionary ladder? Kurosaki could probably kill him just by sneezing too hard. The element of surprise could only do so much before he ended up snapped into six pieces anyway. He wasn’t an idiot. And that was exactly why he wasn’t going to open his mouth and tell Kurosaki what had really happened to him.

Let him be some fucking paragon of heroism in Kurosaki’s head. Better than the disappointing truth of it: that Grimmjow had failed his goals, failed as an arrancar and couldn’t even take a fucking shower without a shinigami’s help.

Best he could do was wait, and eat, and in the dark hours of the night hope to hell he wasn’t stuck in regression for the rest of his life. An adjuchas couldn’t become one again if it regressed into a gillian. Who the hell knew if an adjuchas could evolve after regression either? Who the fuck had ever been in a situation like that? Nelliel had been the closest comparison, and Grimmjow could still remember the appalled pity in her face. He was some kind of accident; some kind of freak. There was nothing out there for an arrancar who couldn’t even hold onto his own form.

So he’d stay, he’d wear the fucking collar and keep his mouth shut. ‘Cause if he ever had to see the same look on Kurosaki’s face that he’d seen on Nelliel’s, Grimmjow would happily roll over and fucking die once and for all.

* * *

Ichigo was just beginning to pace when the doorbell rang. Ishida was twenty minutes late, and therefore could never complain to him about punctuality ever again. It was a small silver living, maybe, but he’d actually begun to stress out a little. Blue had sat on the other side of the living room beside the TV a while ago and had just been staring at him for the last half hour. There wasn’t any other way to explain it. Maybe he’d creeped it out after his dad had talked about the code of conduct stuff. Ichigo couldn’t even deny it again without sounding like he’d actually thought about it.

Launching himself into the hallway, sliding in his socks, Ichigo got to the front door and pulled it open with a relieved insult sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“Good morning, Kurosaki-kun!” said Inoue, beaming.

“Ichigo.” Chad was less emotive.

Ichigo stared at them both. It was definitely happening: Chad was broad and wearing his usual loud print shirt, giving him the grave look of someone who was probably entirely happy on the inside. Inoue looked like she always did, radiating pleasant cheer, completely oblivious to the cookie crumbs dusting the front of her dress. He was pretty sure he managed some kind of reply to them before turning to Ishida.

“What the hell?”

“You did say to bring an open mind,” Ishida said tartly. “Here’s two. Now let me in; if you think I can’t sense that hollow reiatsu inside your house you must be a moron.” It was the usual Ishida demeanour, and his face had that sour pinch that said he had opinions about things Ichigo was doing, but he hadn’t tried to push his way into the house yet. Which meant Ishida was still feeling weird and guilty. Figured.

“Fine, but I want your word you won’t attack it.” Ichigo hesitated. “Also, any wanton property damage will have to be explained to Karin in person.” When they all nodded seriously he pushed the door open wide and stepped away, letting his three best friends into his house with a strange case of nerves about it. Not because they might actually attack Blue, but because he didn’t know what they’d think of him for keeping a hollow in his house. It wouldn’t be pretty, but like a car crash approaching Ichigo just decided to go for it in all its horrible slow-motion.

He made it back into the living room in time to see his dad drinking from the juice carton in the kitchen, like he hadn’t had enough of it the night before. Making the universal cross symbol with his hands, he jerked his chin at the stairs. Wordlessly saluting his son, Isshin capped the juice and ran away aimlessly, giving them the entire living area. Blue watched from the other side of the room with liquid black eyes, but it wasn’t hunched defensively. If anything the hollow was stretching out, standing straight and proud as two humans and a quincy wandered in to see why Ichigo wanted bait.

Inoue spotted Blue first and gasped, her head whipping from Ichigo to the hollow and back. “That’s a big cat!”

Ishida’s eye twitched, once, and then he covered his face with both hands. He looked like he wanted a pillow to scream into.

Chad just looked at Blue solemnly. Blue looked right back. Slowly, Chad pointed at it with one strong finger and turned his head to Ichigo. “I want to fight that cat.”

“No,” Ichigo said with feeling, but Blue had already launched itself excitedly at Chad, jaws open wide to show all its sharp teeth. “Damn it!”

Stuck in his human body, Ichigo had to stand and watch Chad grab Blue around its torso and suplex it headfirst into the wooden floor. Amazingly, the boards didn’t splinter, which told Ichigo that Chad was actually going easy. Testimony to that, Blue shot straight back up with claws skittering and headbutted Chad in the stomach so hard he fell on his ass with a grunt, legs catching around hollow-plate to twist Blue down with him by his ankles alone. Jealously, Ichigo watched his new housemate bite Chad’s armoured bicep up and down like a piece of rawhide, to absolutely zero effect. It was actually more likely that Blue’s teeth would break.

“It’s sturdy,” Chad said slowly, and with no fear whatsoever he rapped his knuckles on the top of Blue’s head. “Strong, built for hunting. But its strength is nothing we couldn’t handle if it decides to attack anyone.” The look he gave Ichigo wasn’t particularly bothered, but that was Chad all over. He hadn’t fought with Blue to hurt it, but to gauge the risk it presented. “I trust Ichigo’s judgement.”

“He doesn’t have any judgement,” Ishida said emphatically, hands waving. “Hollow are—hollow! Vicious, conscienceless, completely lost to all salvation bar the swing of a sword. Something at that level, it’s little better than a rabid, starving mongrel.” Scanning their faces and seeming to come up short of the reaction he wanted, Ishida pushed up his glasses and scowled. “Shinigami are supposed to kill something like that, not feed it. I know its been a while, Kurosaki, but surely you remember that much.”

Ichigo could feel the coals of true irritation heat his chest, but he’d expected Ishida’s response would be something like that. It was just his nature, Ichigo told himself. No need to punch him in the glasses.

Blue had stopped biting Chad at some point, and instead was levelling Ishida a look of such pure seething disgust it was a little chilling. Getting up from the floor, tail lashing, the hollow snarled. Ichigo fully expected Blue to try to attack Ishida for the insults he’d just paid it, but instead it stalked over to Inoue on soundless paws and stared at her. Since she lacked the basic human instinct for survival, the most she did was gasp a little and take a step back from the enormous hulking monster cat, then sway forward again when it didn’t move.

“Its eyes are sort of pretty,” she murmured, but there was a thoughtful frown forming in the corner of her mouth. “I feel like they’ve looked at me before.” Noticing the collar, she leaned forward to examine it, her bright hair sliding over her shoulders. Unbeknownst to her, she was giving Blue a direct view down the front of her dress. Ishida made a silent, praying motion of pure exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ichigo could figure out exactly what Blue was doing: pulling the same trick twice, only this time he was trying to win Inoue over instead of Yuzu. Did it think all females ruled over the guys, or was it really that astute that it knew Ishida would probably crumple if Inoue gave it her seal of approval? Both were likely, since it was becoming more and more apparent that Blue only had the shape of an animal. Its mind belonged to something far more intelligent.

Inoue was just starting to reach out to touch Blue when it nudged its face past her hand and—

Ichigo’s eyebrows flew up. Ishida made a strangled sound of disbelief.

Inoue just laughed in delight.

“Oh! It really is a big cat,” she said joyously, as Blue nuzzled its face between her ample breasts and let out a long, exhaled sigh. Impulsively wrapping her arms around its giant head, she snuggled Blue even deeper into her cleavage, her cheek resting on the hard plate between its ears. “Kurosaki-kun, it’s wonderful! Can I visit sometimes? I—oh! Oh! It’s licking me! I must taste like salt, it was kind of hot in the sun and I might have been sweating a little on the way here. Its tongue is so rough!” Marvelling at Blue, Inoue happily unfastened the top button of her dress to give Blue room to run its tongue along the top of her breasts. “There you go!”

Ichigo heaved a slow, soul-creaking sigh and tipped his head up at the ceiling. He counted to five, then looked to Ishida.

Ishida was blushing absolutely crimson, miserably staring at the adjacent wall with unblinking eyes. His hands were in tight fists by his sides. Huh, Ichigo thought reluctantly, it almost looked like Ishida was kind of…? Swinging his attention back to Inoue’s innocent debauchery, Ichigo caught Blue’s sly, malicious glance over at Ishida, who was still pointedly looking away. What the hell?

“Blue, quit being an asshole,” Ichigo said, annoyed by his own confusion. “Inoue, please stop letting the hollow lick your chest.”

“It’s like getting a free massage,” Inoue sighed, making everything just a little bit worse. But she did do her button back up as Blue finally sat back, pink tongue running across its pointed teeth. “Kurosaki-kun, you should try it!”

“Hard pass.”

“Can we please get back to the matter at hand?” Ishida said crossly, but it was fuelled more by the impatience of the generally shitty rather than hollow-centric hatred. “Keep it if that’s your intention, but I want to know what the purpose of the bait is supposed to serve. I doubt it’s to lure it home at the end of each day.”

Figuring he did owe Ishida that much, Ichigo moved to the couch and sat, trying to figure out the best way to explain that he didn’t want Blue to de-evolve. So he started from the beginning instead.

To his credit, Ishida listened attentively alongside the others, though he seemed faintly perplexed by the small tale and kept darting Blue speculative looks. The idea that a hollow might want to allow a shinigami to kill it seemed to blow his mind. Inoue just made a sad sound and opened her arms to Blue, who flatly ignored her and hunched up in the corner looking pissed. Chad absorbed everything in silence, his poker face giving away nothing of his thoughts. Ichigo didn’t mind; Chad always had his back, even when he didn’t quite get what the hell was going on.

“To be honest, I’m not sure why I want to do this,” Ichigo finally admitted, scratching his cheek. “I don’t want to kill it, and I don’t think its interested in human souls. It just needs hollows to stop itself from…melting back into a gillian, or something. Maybe it got tired of hunting, or racing against the clock. But it’s trying again, and I want to help.”

“And maybe it’s got you trying again, too.” Ishida didn’t phrase it like a question, and his eyes were knowing. When Ichigo just gave a jerky half-shrug he sighed, raked his dark hair back behind one ear and reached into his coat pocket for a small pouch about the size of his fist. “There’s about twenty or thirty pieces in here, but you can break it into halves to double the amount. It’s only once it’s crumbled to grains that the air catches it and the hollows feel the lure. Do me one favour and don’t repeat history. I don’t need to see a menos grande step out of the sky again.”

“Blue actually wants to eat one if it appears. I bet it’s like a power boost.”

“Don’t tell me things like that,” Ishida muttered. “It’s bad enough I stole Ryuuken’s stash of bait from the safe. He’ll know when its used, and then I’ll end up on nurse rounds with the grabby old ladies for the next month.”

Ichigo’s mouth tugged up in a slight smile. “Thanks for sticking your neck out for me, Ishida.”

“No problem.”

Inoue paused in the act of brushing her dress down and beamed at him. “You know, I’d like to see you in a nurse’s outfit, Ishida-kun! I bet all the patients would swoon.”

Ishida went red so fast it was a wonder he didn’t do a little swooning of his own. A lightbulb suddenly went on in Ichigo’s head. Glancing over at Blue, he discreetly gestured between Inoue and Ishida, raising an eyebrow. Blue looked back at him like he was stupid. Ichigo wondered if maybe he was. Shaking off his train of thought, he watched Ishida stand and straighten his cuffs, glancing around the room purposefully.

“I should get back to the hospital,” he said, sounding a little terse. “Inoue-san, Sado-kun, thank you for coming with me on such short notice. Kurosaki, I hope this doesn’t blow up in your face, but call me if it does. I want to be there to rub it in.”

“You’re a true friend,” Ichigo said dryly.

Seemingly taking their cue from Ishida, Inoue and Chad both decided it was as good a time as any to hit the road as well, though Inoue was making hopeful eyes at Blue and trying to lure it back towards her. Horribly, Ichigo felt a little satisfied when it ignored her to jump on the couch, sniffing at the pouch of hollow bait he held in his hands. The resulting wet sneeze that misted his arms was a lot less welcome.

Seeing them off at the door, Ichigo promised to text them all soon with updates on how things were going. Inoue especially wanted photos, while Chad just sort of gave one of his easy shrugs. Ishida had washed his hands of the entire thing and said he didn’t want to hear a word about it unless someone was injured or dying.

As they stepped out the door, Inoue turned and gave him a thoughtful look.

“How come you didn’t name it Grimmjow?”

Ichigo blinked hard.

“Grimmjow?”

“Mm. It has a familiar sort of demeanour, doesn’t it?” Her smile turned a little awkward, her eyes creasing up. “But isn’t that why you kept it? Sort of like watering a plant for someone else, you know?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Ichigo said blankly, his heart thudding strong in his chest. “Why would I name it after a guy who wanted to kill me?”

Inoue’s smile faded slightly. “I suppose you’re right. I’m being silly! You’d never do something like that, like naming a pretty green fern Ulquiorra and giving it lots of water and shade—not that I did that! Who’d do that?” Laughing at herself a little, Inoue practically ran out the door in an embarrassed fluster, dragging Chad with her as a human shield. Ishida just sighed to himself and jammed a thumb to his temple. Inoue was pretty weird, but her unique way of looking at the world somehow managed to still make sense on an instinctive level. Maybe Ishida appreciated that, despite all his cold logic.

“Are you going to tell her?” Ichigo asked abruptly, nudging him in the side.

Ishida’s mouth flattened. “There’s no point.”

“Why not?” The long, flat look he received at that made him instantly defensive. “What?”

“Sometimes I’d really like to punch you in the face,” Ishida said eventually, but there was a resigned note in his voice. “You need to get some more sleep, by the way. Three hours isn’t anywhere near enough.”

“Thanks for the advice, nurse.”

“I hope you sleepwalk into oncoming traffic.”

Once they were all gone, Ichigo found himself at a bit of a loss. He had the entire day to himself—mostly himself, and they couldn’t hollow hunt until nightfall. What was he supposed to do with Blue in the meantime? Going out seemed risky, but staying in the house might bore it. Shutting the door behind him, he wandered back into the living room to find Blue asleep on the couch, sprawled long and strangely lean for all its bulk. Its head was resting right in place he’d been sitting. The expression of utter comfort and peace on its face made Ichigo spectacularly jealous. Wasn’t it supposed to be feral and mistrustful, like it had been the night before? Instead it looked like it was having the best nap of its entire life, while he could barely snatch a few hours out of the day where he wasn’t having night terrors. Fucking typical of the universe to do that to him. One last kick in the ass before the dust settled.

Opening its eyes a crack to glance over at Ichigo’s unhappy face, Blue steadily watched him for a long moment, as if weighing an important decision. Finally, it shifted back against the cushions of the couch, giving him room if he wanted it. Like he could just curl up against its side and sleep like the dead. Like it was that easy. Instead Ichigo walked to the other end of the enormous corner couch and grabbed up a thin folded blanket, dumping it over Blue’s back and flank.

“In case Yuzu doesn’t notice the collar,” he said firmly, like that was all there was to it. Blue just blinked startled eyes at him, those strange pupils blowing open like two eclipsed moons. “Just get a few hours in for me. I’ll wake you when it’s dusk.”

Blue started to shift, muscles gathering in its back and haunches like it was going to get up. Planting a strong hand down on its rump, Ichigo forced it down again.

“Sleep, idiot. You can do it without me, right?”

Blue gave him a dirty look for that, but settled back down into the cushions reluctantly, ears flicking in different directions like it was checking for danger. Ichigo dared to rub his palm over the wide swath of cropped, slightly coarse black fur over its neck, where the plates left a gap so that Blue could turn its head freely. If he looked hard enough, it almost seemed like there were darker black splashes patterned through its fur. Hollow evolution was so weird, he thought absently, watching Blue’s eyes slide shut, sides swelling to gust out a long breath that hopefully indicated final acquiescence.

Ishida was probably right about Blue’s slow heave up from the road the night before giving him some kind of hope for himself. They hadn’t been in the same situation, but the purpose and the determination had been gone from them both. Hard to fight when nothing was out there to fight you. Nothing strong enough. Nothing with that right amount of fire. What was the point of just surviving? What the hell did Blue have to look forward to, even if it could eat enough to stay adjuchas? A lifetime of eating day to day? It didn’t make sense. What was its end goal? Surely it had one, being as clever and cunning as it was. Nothing that had looked at Ishida with such rotten amusement could possibly have low expectations. Blue was an asshole, and assholes had ambition.

_How come you didn’t name it Grimmjow?_

Ichigo’s mouth softened, his frown relaxing slightly. The hand he rubbed along Blue’s neck slowed down. His father had implied it; Inoue had basically painted him a picture. But Grimmjow would probably laugh in his stupid sentimental face for the whole thing. He’d only ever been interested in strength and triumph, not lending a hand to anything he deemed weaker than him. He’d always hated Ichigo for his eyes: for the resolve in them that had challenged his own even when he’d been too weak to win. He’d have blown Blue to pieces in a heartbeat. Maybe. Ichigo couldn’t claim to know that much about Grimmjow, three fights and a small alliance later. An alliance that had gotten him killed.

Grimmjow wouldn’t endorse a single action Ichigo had taken over the last twenty-four hours. Somehow, that made Ichigo all the more determined to see the entire thing through. He wasn’t honouring a memory, not really. He was moving on. Doing what he wanted, using his strength how he chose. There was no battlefield in Hueco Mundo waiting for them, no handshake at the end of their wars. There was just life, and choices, and friends who were growing in their own directions too.

Under his hand, Blue’s eyes had drifted closed again, chin sinking to rest on its paw. Wrapped up in Yuzu’s favourite crying blanket, which she usually wore like a cape while binge-watching Greys Anatomy, the massive cat-shaped murdering monster Ishida had warned him about drifted lazily off to sleep.

Pushing his back against the curve of its middle, Ichigo settled against its side and grabbed the remote, figuring he could get a couple of episodes of something worth watching to kill some time. He didn’t bother to move his hand. Maybe he and Blue were just as bad as each other, subverting their sworn roles and the balance of natural death in order to get some sleep and recharge a little. Maybe in time, Blue could even think of him as a trusted companion.

Starting up some random action series, Ichigo shook his head ruefully at his own dumb daydream.

Yeah, right.

* * *

Beneath the absent-minded rub of Kurosaki’s long fingers across the back of his neck, Grimmjow desperately pretended to sleep.

He was so fucking _fucked._


	5. Chapter 5

“All right,” Ichigo said, leaning Zangetsu’s longsword against a nearby tree. Ahead he could see nothing but the black outlines of shrubbery and trees. Overhead, a blue wash of stars peered down curiously at one shinigami and his adjuchas companion. “This far out should do.”

The valley that Karakura was nestled in provided a lot of uninhabited land beyond the curving hills that surrounded the town. Ichigo never had much cause to venture out into the woods and rocky outcrops out there, but it was a night for hunting, and to do that they needed territory to roam freely in. Besides, there was one part of those outskirts he knew pretty damn well, and if they could withstand Aizen Sousuke’s egotistical speeches and creepy moth body zooming around, they could handle Blue and a bunch of low-grade hollows. Ichigo turned to the hollow, who was pacing in long lines across the thin grassed hilltop overlooking the expanse. Its entire demeanour had changed in the last half hour, going from bad-tempered, lazy giant to something unblinking and watchful, its gait flowing into silent and rippling lines as they flickered through the sky. Whether it was the sun going down or the anticipation of food, something fundamental had shifted in Blue.

“I’ll break the bait down in the centre of that plateau over there,” Ichigo told it, pointing to the flat field-like arena at the bottom of the hill. “Then I guess I’ll just sit back and let you do your thing. If too many come through that you can’t manage, I’ll pick them off. Don’t make that face, we just can’t let them take off and hit the town. Don’t worry, I have complete faith in your ability to bite the shit out of things.” He pointed at the fresh pink scars still raised on his own forearm. They’d fade completely in a day or two, but they were still a pretty good reminder that the hollow was strong enough to manage itself.

Looking a little smug but still wired for action, Blue sat back on its haunches. Its long tail lashed expectantly as Ichigo pulled out the bait bag, grabbing a single disc of the chalky white substance. He still wasn’t entirely sure what it was that made hollows flock to it, but he suspected it was some kind of synthesised reiryoku or whatever acted like pheromones for hollows. Eyeing Blue warily for an instant, Ichigo really hoped it didn’t send the big cat crazy.

Oh well, he’d committed to the idea. Time to harvest the fruits of his labour.

One flash step down to the plateau, one clenched fist around the disc to smash it to dust and one scattering of the shimmering grains later, Ichigo hesitated a moment to see if he could feel what might lure the hollow. He did have the essence of one deep down inside him still, after all. But all he felt was the gentle breeze as it carried the bait up into the air. Dusting his hand off against his hakama, he shrugged to himself and stepped back to the hill crest, where Blue stood at attention.

“Does the bait work?” Blue didn’t exactly look like it was experiencing the powerful lure of weird quincy shit. What if other hollows didn’t react either? Maybe it had gone stale. He’d forgotten to ask about shelf life.

Blue barely gave him a glance, instead keeping its ears pricked forward and eyes intent on the land stretching out before them. Slowly, carefully, it stood up—and sank down slightly, moving forward with silent, deliberate steps. Only the end of its tail twitched as it stalked slowly down the hill. Bemused, Ichigo watched on. There wasn’t even anything there—

A stepped dark mouth opened in the centre of the bait-dusted area, and a strange figure stepped out of thin air.

“Smells like dinner out here!” said the hollow, standing on multiple legs like elongated crab claws. Its hands were pincers: thick and hard-plated in white. Stalk-eyes swivelled around like periscopes, looking for its promised meal. “Where the fuck am I?”

Blue went still in the grass, belly down and barely obscured. Its mouth was open in a silent snarl, but it didn’t immediately move. It was another adjuchas, Ichigo realised in a flash. Animal body, isn’t that what Karin had said? And a brain in its head. Its reiatsu was higher than any gillian, and it was about twice Blue’s size. Which meant Blue was in for a fight, not just a meal. Maybe he should get his sword.

Just as he was thinking that, Blue vanished from sight—

—and flashed back mid-air, claws outstretched and jaws wide as it sank teeth into the meat of the crab-guy’s shoulder, ripping off his right arm, pincer and all. Green blood spurted from the wound, hose-like, drenching Blue’s face. Crabby screamed long and loud, but there was something weird about the tone.

“You fucking fuck! Oh, look at that mess, that’s not growing back,” it said, kicking at its own arm with dismay. “Good job, cat shit, now I’ll never fucking evolv— _yargh!_ "

Ichigo looked on in repulsed fascination as Blue bit Crabby on the head. The hard crunch echoed through the entire area, which actually had great natural acoustics. The wet noises of Blue sucking the thing’s brain out of its head like marrow from a bone easily reached Ichigo’s ears. His gorge briefly rose, sour saliva running into his mouth. Hollow kills were absolutely disgusting. Why couldn’t it just be all neat and tidy, like it was with a zanpakutou? One good chop of the sword, some dramatic final words, disintegration into thin air. Easy.

Down on the plateau, Blue happily snapped through Crabby’s femur and wrenched off a leg. Ichigo broke out in the cold sweat of the potentially about to vomit. Luckily the feast was quickly interrupted as a swarm of lesser hollow burst through a new tear in the sky, dropping like bloated, misshapen white-masked fruit with skin the mottled colour of fresh bruises.

“Ssssouls,” they hissed with one voice, tumbling through the air.

Blue looked up and gave a happy, blood-drenched rumble.

“Fffffuck,” they groaned, falling with resignation into the waiting death machine below them. Ichigo couldn’t blame them really: Blue was fast, ferocious and driven. It seemed like all it had to do was bite one and they just gave up. Granted, the places Blue was biting were sort of important since it was going for throats and heads, even legs when it had bigger prey, hobbling them so they couldn’t escape. It was systematic, cold-blooded, and kind of genius to watch. Slowly, Ichigo sat down on the hill and settled in to watch the spectacle.

Ichigo didn’t really consider himself a violent kind of guy. He could fight, and he wasn’t sorry when he had to crack a few skulls together, but he didn’t relish blood and gore the way someone like, say, Kenpachi might. Slasher movies didn’t excite him. But this was like watching Hueco Mundo’s very own discovery channel, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Blue knew exactly what it was doing. How to snap, dodge, lunge, when to do it to best effect and what order to dispatch them in. Even its tail was put to use: one hollow caught a strike of it across the face with such force its mask cracked in half. When another one halfheartedly tried to get Blue from behind while it was running, front claws like thick knives plunged into the rocky ground and with the momentum it already had Blue’s hindquarters swung around in a one-eighty degree turn, strong back legs kicking off to meet the gutsy hollow with its blood-soaked maw.

On and on it went, as the sky kept spewing hapless hollows in droves. Blue dispatched them all with brutal efficiency, taking a large bite from each. It seemed to be all it needed, and since most of the bites were killing blows it wasn’t long before the entire area was littered with chips of white mask and bone plating soaked in unnatural blood.

Finally, the sky was still and clear. When it had stayed that way for over five minutes, Ichigo figured the bait had run its course and stood up, walking down into the killing field where Blue was breathing heavily. He was about eight paces away when Blue threw its head back and roared.

It was a stentorian, layered, reverberating sound that poured out of it like a physical wave of reiatsu, sounding like no animal Ichigo had ever heard on TV. This was something else, something fired with bloodthirsty triumph that rolled through their new arena like thunder. Reiryoku limned its outline in a faint glimmer, quickly extinguished.

Still the coolest hollow he’d never seen, Ichigo thought with muted pride. Even if it was a messy eater. He resumed his approach.

“All right, Lion King, if you’re finished can you clean all this up?” Ichigo gestured at the scores of mutilated corpses that surrounded them. “Don’t even try to tell me you have to actually eat them all. You’d burst.”

Up close, Blue definitely looked like it needed a hose and a towelling off when they got back home. Blood in various inhuman shades of the colour wheel splashed it like it’d just gone through the weirdest colour run in history. Turning slightly to face away from him, Blue spat cero after cero across the area, erasing all the evidence of their night. The result was a smoking, pork-scented area that made Ichigo’s stomach rumble a little, something he was steadfastly committed to ignoring even as Blue’s ears twitched toward the sound.

“Let me get Zangetsu and we’ll get the hell outta here.” It was past ten, probably. Plenty of time to do a patrol and then stare at his ceiling for six hours straight. Ichigo turned to head back up the hill.

Halfway up the slope, the hairs on the back of his neck shivered. Dropping like a stone, Ichigo went belly-down just in time for a gleaming white shape to leap over him, missing his back by inches. Blue had just tried to pounce on him.

Nobody pounced on Kurosaki Ichigo.

“Hey!” Shooting out of his impromptu push-up, Ichigo glared at Blue. “Do I look like a hollow to you? I’ll kick your ass.”

Blue made a throaty, jeering sound and sank low, haunches shifting like it was lining up for another shot at him. Its eyes were alive with primal enjoyment, hunting instincts still at the forefront of its control. Crossing his arms, Ichigo sniffed in deliberate disinterest.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re totally outgunned here. I’ve been playing tag since I was  _four._ " Illustrating the incredible gap in their speed, he flash-stepped to the other end of the field and cupped his hands to shout back at Blue.

Blue wasn’t there.

Yelping, he twisted around and punched out in time to catch the hollow mid-lunge (and possibly, mid-lunch). Falling gracelessly on its side with a huff of exhaled breath, it scrambled up quickly, but Ichigo was already running like hell. And like it was the most natural thing in the world, Blue gave its rumbling laugh-sound and launched after him.

There was shit-all in terms of places to hide down there, so Ichigo tried to get to the surrounding woods, unable to quell his laugh as Blue snapped at his heels, enormous paws swiping out at his ankles to trip him over. Flickering out of sight, changing his trajectory entirely, Ichigo tried to do something he had rotten practice with and squashed his reiatsu down until his entire spiritual signature was masked. Finding a tree with a trunk thick enough to hide him, Ichigo pressed his back to it and tried to hold his breath.

In the surrounding woods, there was no sound but the faint  _shhhh_  of wind moving through the leaves. Everything was still and peaceful. Ichigo mentally fist-pumped. That hollow cat had no damn idea who it was messing with.

Glancing to his left, Ichigo yelled in fright and swung an uppercut to Blue, catching it hard on the tip of its chin as it leapt for him again. Flipped end over end by the force of the blow, its white bulk took out a small tree and rolled down a shallow trench, landing in a tiny stream. Instantly repentant, Ichigo ran down into the stream after it, shouting apologies.

“You dumb asshole, are you all right?” The hollow simply shook itself off and looked at him furiously, the pink of its tongue peeking out of its mouth a little. “Did you bite it? C’mere, let me see.”

Blue actually obeyed, looking a little betrayed as it meandered its way up out of the mud and presented its face to Ichigo. It was a little too obedient, actually.

“You’d better not bite me again. Open up.” Wide jaws parted, revealing a tongue that had to be the entire length of his forearm, coated with pale hair-like spikes that arched back toward its throat. So that was what had groomed him. At the very end, a small red indent where its front row of teeth had snapped shut on its tongue looked sore. Patting his fingertip to it gently, he checked for any blood. Nothing. Sheepish, he rubbed Blue soothingly under the chin, careful not to be too rough where his punch had landed. “Sorry about that. How’d you even find me so fast?”

Eyes squinting shut slowly at the chin rub, Blue sucked a purposeful breath in through his nose.

“Right, scent. I didn’t think about that.” Hesitating, Ichigo asked, “Do I smell bad?”

Lifting one dirty paw, Blue pushed at his thigh. Specifically the one he’d rubbed the excess hollow bait off against.

“You fucking cheater!” Ichigo cried, shoving the hollow’s face away in disgust. “I had a target on me, you can’t call that a win!” Reaching for it with both hands, he was denied the joy of strangling it as it leapt away again, smooth as silk. This time, Ichigo was the one giving chase.

Blinking in and out of sight, they raced through the woods and out into the open air, down over the side of the craggy short cliffs and across the hollow field, zig-zagging and changing direction. Blue ran like a mad thing, up trees and across branches, leaping back at Ichigo’s head to make him duck as it found a better path to take away from him. Ichigo held back on his power just enough that he wasn’t going too easy on the hollow, who was actually damn fast with its sonido. Trying to cut it off, diving on it only to come up with a mouthful of twigs and leaves, he came within millimetres of the big cat time and again only to be left grasping air, the hollow already launching off into the shrubbery with its stupid growl-laugh echoing back.

Ichigo was having the time of his life.

Their game of tag came to a head when he almost went headfirst down a small ravine after Blue, who’d seen the distance for what it was and hit the brakes. Slamming into it with a yell, Ichigo could only grab the hollow around the middle as it leapt away, letting himself be carried through the air briefly until they thumped down together in the grass, rolling together until their momentum slowed. Ichigo was surprised to find himself laughing breathlessly, flat on his back in a sprawl with a blood-crusted hollow pinning him to the ground, sniffing his face. Reaching up with both hands, he smoothed his palms over its broad face and up to its furry-tipped ears, trying to catch his breath beneath its bulk.

“You’re the best,” Ichigo told it fondly, though it came out kind of winded. “You’re a psychopath, and I watched you eat brains tonight, but you’re still the coolest hollow I’ve ever met.”

Blue let out a low rumble at that, which seemed pleased, but it quickly faded into an offended, almost startled growl. It was still the most expressive response he’d gotten out of the hollow so far. When it pushed its nose under his chin and licked an unhygienic stripe up his throat, Ichigo figured he can’t have said anything too terrible. Maybe it was tempting fate to let the hollow so close to the softness of his throat, but he couldn’t summon any fear of it. Not because it wasn’t fearsome—the events earlier had kind of cemented its place in the halls of the disgusting and violent—but because they had something kind an understanding going on. Well, he thought so. Friends, Ichigo told himself firmly, even though it still sounded stupid to him. At least until the bait ran out and Blue didn’t want to stick around anymore.

“You know,” Ichigo said thoughtfully as the hollow started grooming his neck in earnest, “you took that other adjuchas down pretty easily, so it’s not like you’re weak by comparison. I don’t understand why you’re here instead of Hueco Mundo. Don’t you have any friends there?” Inoue was completely wrong, he decided in the expected silence. It felt like sandpaper and despair, not a massage. What kind of kinky stuff was she into? Blue pulled its head up long enough to roll its eyes at him, but before it could resume Ichigo caught its face between his hands. “I mean it though. Don’t play dumb animal with me, I know you understand everything I say. Are you all by yourself?”

Narrowed blue eyes glared into his, unintentionally menacing in the night. At the right tilt of its head, moonlight caught the reflective film at the back of its pupils, making them shine like coins. When it nodded, Ichigo felt the motion with both hands and a strange lurch in his chest. All alone, huh. Reason enough to give up. What the hell did you live for when it was just you against the entire world, completely isolated and unwanted? He couldn’t think of a single reason.

“Well,” Ichigo said evenly, “now you’ve got me. And I…” Tearing his eyes away, he scowled up at the sky, where the trees overhead could only partially hide the stars, “I wouldn’t mind some company. Everyone else wants to pick my brain apart, or tell me about my own insomnia. All you want is to eat hollows and molest me.” Pushing Blue off his body, Ichigo sat up and brushed himself off. “If that’s the price I have to pay for peace and quiet, so be it.”

It was getting kind of late by then, and while it was tempting to scare his old man in the kitchen again it was probably a better idea if they got home and washed off the night’s activities. Ichigo had broken a sweat at some point during their chase, which actually made him wonder if Blue really did like the salty taste. Whatever. He turned to beckon Blue, but stopped when he saw it was working its throat strangely.

“Are you okay?”

Blue spread its front paws and lowered its head. Something was trembling up from the base of its spine, throwing it forward in small, instinctive jerks. Its jaws opened wide. Alarm clutched at Ichigo.

“Hey—”

Blue coughed once, twice, and then deposited one of Crabby’s eye stalks on the ground in a rush of blood-coloured slime. They both stared at it in disgust. It stared back. Ichigo tried to bolster his composure.

“Well, I wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway,” he said weakly. “Lets go home and wash you off.”

Blue’s tail snapped straight up in the air, almost vibrating as it trotted after him to retrieve Zangetsu.

Silent it might be, but Ichigo knew there was no denying the hollow was damn weird.

He was okay with it.

* * *

 

An hour and a half later, clean and dry and stretched out on Kurosaki’s bed, Grimmjow wondered if this was what domestication felt like. A full belly, a warm bed, someone looking after him and a place out of the weather to rest. His power had already taken a dramatic spike upward after their excursion, thanks to the quincy bait that four-eyed fuck had turned up with. If they used it a couple times a week, he’d be well on his way to evolution again. If he could still manage it. Couple hundred hollows a night…he’d be good to go inside a month or two.

Then what? Who the fuck knew. The lie wouldn’t keep forever, and Kurosaki would shit a brick if he realised what he’d let into his house, let alone grudgingly crawled into bed alongside. That was never going to be normal. He might mourn his lost chance to have his ass kicked one final time, but there was no way in hell that shinigami was going to tolerate the truth.

Grimmjow watched moodily as Kurosaki sat at his desk, the lamplight shining softly on whatever he was reading over there. Moron’s eyes were wreathed in shadows and he still couldn’t sleep. The hell was he so scared of? It’d be pathetic if it wasn’t so damn confusing. If he had Kurosaki’s power there wouldn’t be a force in all three worlds that could stop him. He’d sleep like a baby every damn night. On a throne. He’d probably even leave Kurosaki alive to serve him.

But instead of doing any of that, instead of doing anything, Kurosaki was sitting hunched at a desk in the middle of the night, trying to distract his own fuckin’ insomnia, hands still all pruned up from cleaning a hollow. An enemy, to any other shinigami.

Telling himself it was just repaying a debt, and Grimmjow hated debts like poison, he shifted over until he could take Kurosaki’s elbow in his mouth, careful not to actually bite him. The asshole’s eyes were golden-brown in the soft light, wide with surprise as he saw what was happening. It took two tugs for him to figure it out, which was two too many in Grimmjow’s personal estimation. It was probably the sleep thing.

“I’m no good,” Kurosaki said with a short shake of his head, his voice pitched low. He detached his elbow with careful fingers. Too damn careful for something like him. “You just get your own rest. I’ll be quiet, promise.” He even rubbed his hand across Grimmjow’s neck in apology. It felt too damn nice. Everything about Kurosaki was too damn  _nice_ ,  and it was making him want to be  _nice_  and—just, fuck it. He snapped forward and clamped his jaws down on the retreating wrist, yanking it so hard Kurosaki slammed into the side of his own desk and fell out of his chair.

“Ow! Shit, Blue, what? I told you already, I can’t sleep! I don’t sleep.” Prying his jaws apart with brute force, Kurosaki got his arm free. By then he was kneeling by the bed. The distressed upward tilt of his brows punched something inside Grimmjow’s plated hollow stomach. “You think you can magically help? You can’t do shit.” That close, there was a tremor of pure frustrated exhaustion shaking those words. “Just worry about yourself. You could use some practice at it.”

Grimmjow took it back: Kurosaki was a whiny, ungrateful little asshole and he could stay awake the rest of his damn life for all he cared. Rearing away, he moved back to his position on the bed, taking up as much of the mattress as he could and faced the wall with all the dismissal he could muster. Fucking waste of his time and energy, anyway.

Who gave a shit if the shinigami couldn’t get any sleep? Slamming his eyes shut, Grimmjow told himself he didn’t.

Let him suffer.

It took a long moment before he felt more than heard Kurosaki exhale softly, bracing himself on the edge of the mattress to get to his feet again. A scuffle of feet across the floorboards and the rattle of the chair said he was probably going back to whatever nerd shit he’d been reading—

A click, and the room beyond Grimmjow’s closed eyelids plunged into darkness. Not that he cared. There was a sound of breathing, and the slide of fabric as Kurosaki did whatever sleep ritual humans did, followed by a dip in the mattress as ineffectual hands tried to yank some of the blankets out from under him.

“C’mon, move,” Kurosaki whispered. Grimmjow very pointedly did not move. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Yeah, like it was that easy. Amateur.

“You want to eat hollows tomorrow night? Fucking move your huge white ass before I stab a pencil into it.”

What. The. Fuck.

Grimmjow was surprised enough to budge over so that Kurosaki could get to his precious blankets, but he wasn’t turning back around for all the hollow bait that quincy could cook up in his creepy white dungeon of repression. First time inside of what probably worked out to a couple of centuries he tried to do something semi-decent for fuck-all gain, and Kurosaki slapped him across the face with it. Well, hell with him. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez could hold a grudge as long as time itself, and nobody—

A warm hand slid over the curve of his flank as a similarly warm pressure pushed into the back of his neck, breathing soft and tired into his insulating fur. Kurosaki was very clearly spooned up against his spine, not even bothered by the ridge of his long tail between them. He was being cuddled. He was in a fuckin’ cuddle with Kurosaki Ichigo.

“Next time you should just give me more room,” Kurosaki mumbled into his neck, the words muffled by his proximity, even with his ears swivelling around to catch it. “Don’t bite me if I start to—uh, you know.” Panic, thrash about, kick, mumble in anguish, any number of examples rose to Grimmjow’s mind as he thought about the night before and Kurosaki’s little nap against the wall. Wasn’t worth a bite, anyway.

It took Kurosaki a strangely short amount of time to settle himself, but his breathing said he wasn’t anywhere near asleep. What was he going to do, stay pressed up against him like he was some kind of therapy hollow all damn night? Why hadn’t he just given up and gone to sleep on his couch downstairs? Grimmjow wasn’t even comfortable to hold onto; the hard plates of his adjuchas form were cold and unyielding, nothing like his arrancar body. The softest parts of him were only there for functionality, so he could bend and turn his head, so his ears could move and his eyes could blink. Not that Kurosaki cared about that, shoving his face right up into his fur like he owned it.

The night slowly slid by like that for a while, and eventually Kurosaki seemed to drowse a little as his breathing evened right out, nose still stuck firmly in his neck fur. The soap he’d used was his own, maybe. Grimmjow’s senses couldn’t tell the difference between their overlaying scents, anyway. It should probably bother him that he smelled like Kurosaki, when all his efforts to date had been to make Kurosaki smell like him. Now they were just one muddled scent, all hollow dust and human heat. He remembered being warm, vaguely, but it felt like something that had happened to someone else. He didn’t need warmth anymore. Stuff like that was just a luxury for things with swords and clothes and broken masks.

The image rose unbidden then, of himself in his arrancar form resting in that exact same position. Being able to really feel Kurosaki’s arm over his side, and the warmth of his chest where it fit against his back. The press of his nose against his nape, mouth blowing humid breath against his skin. His own warm skin.

It didn’t matter, Grimmjow told himself, forcing himself to put steel behind the thought. He hadn’t had that kind of shit before, and he wasn’t likely to have it once he got his body back. It was all just stupid distraction.

Behind him, Kurosaki hitched a breath in his sleep and sighed, almost like he agreed.

Two months. He just had to survive those and he could get clear of all the questions and doubt. Either he’d evolve or he wouldn’t, but he’d be gone all the same. And Kurosaki…well, he’d do just fine without Blue.

He’d have to.


	6. Chapter 6

Ichigo wasn’t sure exactly what to expect of the following days in the Kurosaki household with Blue in the picture. Some awkwardness, maybe some fear of the floating collar on Yuzu’s part, definitely some sort of altercation with his father and the big cat to get even for the whole ass in the fridge thing. But a couple of days turned into a week and the worst thing Ichigo had witnessed so far was Karin patting blush on Blue’s white cheeks while he slept on the couch. Nobody said a word about it for hours until Isshin got home, took one look at Blue and asked the hollow to give him some tips on achieving a healthy glow. It didn’t go down well, and Isshin had to sit on an inflatable butt-doughnut for a while.

Mostly though, Blue quickly became part of Ichigo’s life, and by extension, the rest of the family adopted him with the free affection and acceptance they did every stray person, shinigami (or now, hollow) that Ichigo brought to them. Not that Blue was hard to have around or anything; it didn’t need feeding beyond their hunting excursions most nights, and whatever went on inside its hollow stomach sure didn’t require the use of a bathroom, unless it was being incredibly stealthy and lining Ichigo up for a horrible surprise later on.

Life changed, Ichigo adapted, and things got a little bit better each day.

That wasn’t to say Blue was some kind of saintly guardian angel coming to save his ass, though. A cat hollow was still a hollow, and it thoroughly enjoyed needling the only semi-active shinigami in the house. Twice already Ichigo had woken up to find his head inside Blue’s mouth, covered in stale drool with little tooth indents in his forehead. To say he’d freaked out was probably an understatement but he was standing by his reaction as completely justified, even if Isshin had commented that he now knew Ichigo had inherited his capacity for high-pitched shrieks of terror.

There had also been a few times when Blue had stolen his kill while on patrol around town, opportunistically leaping in before the killing stroke and grabbing the hapless hollow by the throat to shower the surrounding area—and Ichigo—with ichor and strange blood. They’d had a fight over that, scrapping and yelling in the middle of the street at three in the morning, Blue roaring its choked-off complaints while covered head to tail in hollow juice, Ichigo drawing Zangetsu’s short-sword to jam the point of it up one white nostril to emphasise his complaints. Nobody had been a winner that night.

“We’re conspicuous enough without you taking the hollows in town down as well,” Ichigo had told it wearily, sprawled face-down over Blue’s back. He’d sort of tripped there and hadn’t been able to summon the energy to get back up. “I need to send these ones on. They’re just dead townspeople who lost their way, Blue. I have a responsibility to them as the shinigami of this town, and we’re going to have a problem if you keep trying to eat them. We go out almost every night to get you fed, isn’t that enough?”

Beneath his tired spread of limbs, the hollow obviously couldn’t reply but there was a petulant silence that was somehow different to its usual one. Ichigo cushioned his cheek on its ridged spine-tail thing and stared at the trees dotting the roadside. He couldn’t just let Blue do whatever it wanted while he neglected his own duties. Those wayward spirits hadn’t chosen to become hollows, hadn’t done anything yet to warrant such a violent execution.

“Are we good?” Ichigo finally asked. “No more hunting inside Karakura?”

Blue’s moody silence stretched. Then, finally and not without a little bit of melodrama, it sighed long and loud, getting to its feet and testing all four legs. Of course, Ichigo had been on top of it which meant he was carried upward as well, almost riding the hollow like it was a pony. A glaring pony with razor-sharp teeth.

He’d gotten about two seconds notice before Blue jumped into the sky and started running, reishi smoking off its paws as it cleared treetops and buildings. Clenching his thighs, refusing to yell about it, Ichigo hung on for dear life. Two could play that game. He twisted his hands in the studded collar and yanked it like a bridle.

It was all fun and games until Blue reached the Kurosaki family home and phased straight through its favourite wall into the upstairs bedroom—and absolutely flattened Ichigo against the exterior of the house.

Not to be outdone in pettiness, barring their excursions to the outskirts Ichigo had refused to acknowledge Blue’s presence for three whole days after that, which was exactly how long it took for his black eye to fade. Their stalemate ended when Blue stuck its muzzle in the curve of his eyesocket late one night, knowing Ichigo was absolutely still awake. The press of a warm pink tongue to the tender edges of his yellowing bruises was probably as close to an apology as he’d ever get.

So life did change. Ichigo did adapt. And while there were definitely ups and downs…yeah, things were getting better. He never would have expected that Blue would be the best thing to happen to him since he stepped down from Soul Society, bone-weary and heartsore. Turned out all he needed was an asshole hollow to set him straight.

Strange, how things worked out like that.

* * *

“I’m not saying you’ve got issues, but you’ve got issues,” Ishida was saying one afternoon over tea, watching from the couch as Ichigo pushed all his weight down on Blue’s paw, waiting for its claws to pop out like knives. He’d already carved the points off two of them with Isshin’s favourite pocket knife, and he had what felt like thirty-seven more to go. “Just stop letting it up on the couch. Or inside. But to be really sure, just chase it out of Karakura altogether.”

“Shut up,” Ichigo grunted from the floor, half-pinned under Blue’s front leg by then. The paw was right beside his face. Tangling his legs around Blue’s middle, he put the point of the knife up next to his cheek and angled away. Exactly one thin shaving of claw came away with the knife. “Yuzu has been watching those medical dramas again. If she doesn’t get Blue for forty minutes of couch time she wants me to watch with her. I don’t care about McChicken’s love affair, Ishida. I just don’t.”

“Those shows are the big mac in the gourmet banquet of medical television viewing,” Ishida said dismissively. “I’ve worked at the hospital for almost a year now and nobody ever took me hostage to keep their dying lover on life support.”

“Why do you sound sad about it?” Ichigo asked, planting his bare foot between Blue’s eyes and pushing back, trying to distract it long enough to lop off the tip of its claw. “Don’t like changing catheter bags and washing old men?” Blue shook its face free and closed its jaws over his entire foot up to the ankle. Victorious and in pain, Ichigo quickly carved the point off two more claws while it licked his toes.

“You can’t talk to me about washing people while you’re giving a hollow a pedicure on your living room floor.” Pausing to take in the scene with exasperated boredom, Ishida sighed faintly. “Do you know how easily it could bite off your foot? What makes you trust it so much?”

If it wasn’t for the pure confusion in Ishida’s voice it could have easily led to another one of their arguments, but this time he seemed genuinely curious. Popping his foot out of Blue’s mouth, Ichigo put the handle of the knife between his teeth while he tried to wrestle out his next claw.

“We’re a team,” he said around the worn hilt. Blue was keeping them hidden to spite him, but he was going to persevere. The things he did so his little sister could huddle up with an invisible murderer. “Blue and I have a mutually beneficial relationship. I help it stay adjuchas, and in return…” Ichigo swung his face to the side in time for Blue to lick a stripe over his ear instead of his eyeballs.

“In return what?” Ishida asked fairly. “It doesn’t look rewarding from where I’m sitting. What do you get out of this?”

“Stuff.” He tried for a nonchalant shrug from his position on the floor. “I don’t know how to explain it. Blue’s got my back.”

“Looks like it wants to strip the ribs out of your back.” There was no real heat in the words. “Don’t you think you’re just being used? Your relationship is more parasitic than symbiotic. The hollow gives you a modicum of civility and in return you offset the balance of souls to feed it. There’s a reason the quincy were exterminated by Soul Society, Kurosaki. What happens if they come for you like they came for us?”

Ichigo’s energy faded slightly. Sensing weakness, Blue put its big head on his crotch, half squashing his balls under its sheer weight. He batted it away again, swiping with the small knife until it reared its head up. He tilted his head back to smile at Ishida.

“When that happens I’ll just call you, won’t I?”

Ishida sniffed. “Maybe I’ll agree with them.”

“Even if you did you’d never admit it.” That earned him a small smile, quickly buried in the edge of his teacup. “Quit worrying about me, Ishida. Worry about how you’re going to finally ask Inoue out on a date.”

That started an entirely new argument, one Ichigo readily embraced if it meant he didn’t have to think about stuff like Soul Society coming to take Blue away, or kill it.

Above him, Blue stretched out, finally revealing all its claws for Ichigo to hack away at. About time. In between giving Ishida a piece of his mind, he quickly worked his way through the remaining claws, blunting their tips with quick and careful flicks of the knife. It was probably some kind of trust demonstration if he thought about it hard enough, but Ichigo knew it was probably just recognising there were some prices to pay. Blunt claws, a collar, how did they weigh against the possibility of regression? Even pride had its limits, didn’t it?

Surely it did.

The solemn way Blue watched him work said it had cost something, anyway.

* * *

It was another night, another hunt on the outside of town using the quincy bait. It was more of a harvest than a hunt though, since Blue had been a well-oiled killing machine before. Eighteen hunts later and it was with almost lazy grace that he batted the hollows out of the sky, ripping into them with teeth and the lethally sharp back claws Ichigo hadn’t tried to trim down. The internet had told him those were for gutting prey, plus Blue had kicked him right in the head when he’d tried so they’d called it off. Good thing too: it was using them to shred soft underbellies like they were made of cotton candy.

Blue’s reiatsu was never particularly spiked up for any reason, which left Ichigo wondering just how strong it was these days. But as always, it was kept to a low, restrained simmer, unidentifiable in its generic signature. Almost masked. Or maybe adjuchas just didn’t have unique reiatsu signatures the way the more evolved ones did. The way it was throwing itself freely at the starving hollows without any kind of hesitation either meant it was far stronger than they were, or it just had no fear whatsoever. Both were likely, right? Blue was crazy in a fight.

Ichigo watched with careful eyes from his elevated position, so intent on Blue’s clean movements and snapping teeth that he completely missed the single serpentine hollow that shot through the long grass toward him, all the way up there on the hill.

Blue didn’t.

Ichigo had one brief flash of two white-plated arms reaching for him, a cobra hood flared wide around a mouth with teeth like glass shards and then Blue was between it and him, tail cracking like a whip and dripping teeth bared. Its roar was pure territorial rage, layered and discordant around the crimson cero that took the snake’s face (and head, and torso) clean off. By the time Ichigo had blinked the spots out of his eyes and thought to remind Blue that a hollow like that wouldn’t even be able to scratch him, Blue was gone again, back into the fray where the last dregs of the bait had summoned a final handful of hollow. In the returned quiet, he looked down at the half-corpse where it was still twitching in the dry grass.

“Didn’t even eat it,” Ichigo said to himself, baffled. “Complete waste of a perfectly good hollow.”

Down in the arena, Blue devoured its last meal and then stopped dead, shaking its head strangely. Its footwork became hesitant as it turned one way, then the other. It looked like something was wrong. Ichigo was gone from the hill in an instant and down into the arena, sliding on his knees with his own momentum as he brought himself up close to Blue.

“Hey, hey,” he said, grabbing the sides of its plated face with both hands and turning it to face him. “What’s wrong with—”

Blue’s eyes were glowing with an unnatural solid sheen of blue reiryoku. Then it blinked, and it was just a regular cat hollow again, glaring at him like he was being an idiot. Leaping clear of Ichigo’s apparently unnecessary concern, it padded away as if it didn’t have a single care in the world. Still spooked by the glowing eyes thing, Ichigo watched from his kneeling position a few seconds longer but Blue seemed to have recovered from whatever dizzy spell it had, glancing impatiently back at him to get out of the way so it could clean up with its usual spray of cero.

It didn’t seem like it was injured or anything, Ichigo thought reluctantly as he straightened and backed out of the way. Maybe hollow eyes just did that, like the way they reflected light. Maybe it had more abilities than he knew about.

Mid-cero as the brilliant red light enveloped the flat expanse of mauled hollow corpses, Blue’s eyes slid to Ichigo and lingered. Ichigo saw it, but he couldn’t read a single thing in that strange glance. As slitted blue eyes drifted from his hair to his eyes, over his shoulder guards, his uniform, to Zangetsu’s shortsword sheathed at his waist and down to his feet, he felt like he was being silently memorised. Something about that left Ichigo with a feeling of familiarity. Which was stupid; there was only one person who’d ever looked at him like he needed to be engraved on their damn bones, and he was—

Ichigo snatched his gaze away from the red blaze. He caught himself almost immediately, sick and tired of his own recoil.

Grimmjow was dead and he wouldn’t be seeing those eyes again, Ichigo told himself, forcing his mind to finish the thought. He was done flinching and shying away from every damn memory, done blaming himself for things he hadn’t been able to control. He was finished avoiding his name, like it was something that could burn him. What Ichigo could touch, he saved. He protected. Grimmjow had never wanted or needed it. There was a simple truth he’d been trying to grasp and discard for months, when every time he looked at Blue and wondered if he was looking at a substitute, a salve or a saviour.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez’s death hadn’t been his fault.

Somehow, Ichigo wanted to still believe it was, because it meant it could have been something he controlled. But somewhere between Hueco Mundo and Yhwach’s failed reign, Ichigo’s hands hadn’t been there to catch him when he fell. Not that Grimmjow would ever have allowed it with open eyes and a sword in his hand.

It was time to finally let that ghost go, taking all his guilt with it. His shoulders weren’t broad enough to carry it anymore.

Across the plateau, the hollow cat choked off its eruption of cero, letting the place plunge into total darkness. Even the stars were obscured as Ichigo’s eyes tried to adjust. For an instant there was nothing but encompassing black silence, until a dry nose pressed itself against the back of his hand. It took almost nothing to feel his way across the hard plates of the hollow’s head, until his fingers could press against the velvety fuzz of its triangular ears.

“Nice save back up on that hill,” Ichigo told it, rubbing the point of its ear between his fingertips. “That snake might have actually hurt me. You know, if I was ninety-five, tied up and wearing a bag on my head.”

A massive paw lashed out and caught him in the back of the knees, sending him face-first into the dirt. Ichigo rolled over just in time for Blue to sit on him and start nosing at his red shoulder-guard. Squinting in the darkness, he realised it was dripping with some kind of clear goop. It was all over his shihakushou as well, splattering his left side in long runs of fluid.

“The hell is that?” he muttered, reaching up to wipe it away. Blue’s teeth slammed down around his wrist, yanking his hand away. Its rumbling growl was low with warning. Ichigo thought about the snake hollow again. “Did that hollow spit on me?”

Blue gave him a flat look and let go of his arm. _Ding-ding._

Ripping all his clothes off at midnight in the middle of nowhere was the only logical response to being coated in hollow venom, Ichigo figured. Breathing hard, itchy from head to toe, he was about to announce his displeasure in some kind of intelligent way when Blue spat a massive cero on all his clothes, vaporising the lot.

“Nnnn—!!” Making an aborted attempt to grab them, Ichigo only managed to burn his hands. The innocent threads went up in so much reiryoku and steam, leaving nothing but the shoulder-guards and their buckles behind. “Blue, you fucking fuck! Now I’m naked out here! What if ghosts see me?!”

Blue gave him a look that said it really couldn’t give a shit, then bared all its teeth in malicious enjoyment. With a blur of sonido it ditched him there, taking to the sky to race home. Naked as the day he was born Ichigo watched it go, two swords in the dirt at his feet that he’d now have to carry home.

Fuck.

Lifting his hot and stinging hands, Ichigo squinted at the tender skin of his palms and wondered when Blue’s cero had become strong enough to hurt.

Ichigo forgot all about it the moment he eventually got home, after a long trek between concealing post boxes and pencil pines lining the street. He ran face-first into Karin, who grabbed his shortsword off him and chased him up the stairs with it, screaming that she was calling the police about his indecent exposure.

* * *

“I brought fresh catnip,” Inoue said one afternoon, a rumpled paper bag in her hands held out like an offering. “Do you think Blue would like it?”

Taking the bag, Ichigo peered inside. It was a mess of leaves that just smelled kind of green to him. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a handful and sifted it through his fingers. Some of the leaves were torn, staining his fingers with plant juice. He let it fall back into the bag and looked up at Inoue.

“Does this even work on real cats?” he asked, waving her inside. Tugging off her shoes, she smiled up at him from her half-crouched position.

“Sometimes!” she said earnestly. “But sometimes they don’t like it, or they like it too much and drool all over and act stupid—”

“Blue!” Ichigo yelled at the ceiling, suddenly extremely interested in what the catnip would do. “Inoue has a present for you!” He’d left Blue upstairs, napping on his bed. Lately it had been kind of tetchy and withdrawn, mostly sleeping and hunting. Maybe this would cheer it up. “Come get your drugs!”

He led her inside to the living room, where Yuzu and Karin were watching some after-school TV. Karin was still in her uniform, spread-legged on the couch and chugging a can of orange soda. She looked like a lazy sitcom husband wearing a pleated skirt. Beside her, Yuzu was clicking through the channels at the speed of light, a thumbnail clenched anxiously between her teeth.

“Orihime,” Karin greeted, saluting her with the can. Yuzu absently waved at them without looking, still intent upon her search.

“I can’t find Chicago Med with subtitles,” she cried. “We’re going to have to watch Denny die in Greys again.”

“Was he the unshaven guy?” Karin asked with interest.

“You just described half the male cast.”

“Oh, put it on.”

Backing out of that room entirely, Ichigo gestured for Inoue to follow him upstairs. That probably explained Karin’s interest in her hollow lessons with Urahara. That guy hadn’t seen a clean razor in decades. Darting up the stairs, hoping Blue was in a decent enough mood to be nice to Inoue, Ichigo waited for her to catch up.

“You’re looking well, you know,” Inoue told him, taking the steps two at a time and almost slipping in her socks. She absolutely wasn’t watching where she was going. “What’s changed?”

Ichigo scratched his cheek lightly, thinking about it. “I’ve been sleeping okay this week. Less disruptions waking me up, I guess.” He didn’t need to explain what he meant by disruptions. But it was true, his night terrors hadn’t been quite so prevalent. He’d recently been getting about five hours sleep a night, a new record for the last year. Maybe waking up during the night knowing he’d be clutching something stronger than his thoughts was having an effect. Walking to his bedroom door, he frowned at Inoue’s beaming smile. “What?”

“Nothing, really,” she laughed, her features soft. “I’m just glad I bought Blue a present today.”

Choosing not to acknowledge that, Ichigo pushed open his bedroom door to see if Blue was still sleeping or not and stopped dead in his own doorway.

Upon the bed, trembling under some unseen weight, Blue was lit with a vivid blue reiryoku that lined the edges of its white plates. It was as soft as rain, barely even noticeable to his senses, but Blue was hunched down on the mattress, face almost curved down to press into the blankets as the light pulsed off its body. It looked like it was trying to hold it in somehow.

“Oh shit,” Ichigo whispered, rushing forward to press his hands to Blue’s hard plated side, its spine, its black-furred neck. Nothing felt different. “Blue, what the hell is happening? Inoue, what is this?!”

“ _Souten ki_ —oh!” The golden light she usually raised as an embracing barrier was shattered almost on impact. Raising both hands to her temples, an old tell she hadn’t used in ages, she tried again to no avail. The golden light shattered again. “I’m being blocked somehow! I don’t—I don’t think I can reject it!”

“You can’t?” he barked, stressed by the unresponsiveness under his hands. Blue never failed to react to him. “The hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know!” Inoue cried, trying one more time. It splintered like the last two. Breathing heavily, she swung her gaze between them both, chest heaving. “It’s not, I can’t undo this fate—it’s like it’s happened already. I don’t know what to say, Kurosaki-kun, I can’t explain it!”

It was never a good sign when Inoue’s healing failed. Ichigo knew that, as surely as he knew it had built him up from the brink of death many times in the past. If Blue’s body was rejecting her power, what the hell was causing it it? Pushing his hands against Blue’s side once more, rocking its plated flank back and forth a little, Ichigo tried to get a response he could use.

“C’mon,” he muttered urgently, looking for a register of familiarity in the hollow’s face. “You’ve always been able to tell me somehow. Show me what I can do. Show me what’s wrong.”

Lifting its massive head like a drugged thing, mouth hanging open on struggling breaths, Blue rolled its eyes toward Ichigo with the blank, dumb instinct of senseless animal. Its eyes were lit with the same solid reiryoku as the rest of its body. The same reiryoku he’d seen that night, and convinced himself it was nothing. Fuck.

_Fuck._

“Blue, c’mon. Don’t do this. I don’t know how to help unless you tell me.”

Breathing rapidly, Blue started to struggle to its feet on the bed, its head lolling slightly like it could barely make sense of what was up and what was down. All the while it blazed like a constellation: pinpoints of light gathering over the white edges of its bone plates, swarming around the dark lines of its fur. Behind Ichigo, with helpless determination, Inoue tried one more time to get her healing to wrap around Blue’s struggling form. When it fell to golden shards yet again she couldn’t hold in her sound of helpless, frustrated defeat. It echoed the one he was screaming inside his own head.

“I don’t know how to help,” she whispered, her fingers tangling in her hair. “I don’t know _enough_ to help. I’m—I’m going to get your dad.” Spinning on her heel, Inoue threw herself back out into the hallway, already shouting for Isshin’s help. Maybe a kidou shield could help. Maybe not. But it was all going to be too late, Ichigo thought, watching Blue’s lowered head hanging like a dead weight. Under the onslaught it was suffering it looked like all its higher brain function was wiped out. Was it regression? After everything he’d done? Or was it—

The stepped black mouth of the garganta opened against the wall of Ichigo’s bedroom, yawning wide in invitation.

Slowly, Blue turned to look at him, long and somehow desperate. Blinking again and again, it shoved back the glow of its rebelling reiryoku until nothing but sharp blue eyes glared into his. There was something like an apology in those slitted depths.

“No,” Ichigo said, human-skinned and unprepared. “No.”

Twisting away, as the muffled sounds of Isshin and Inoue racing back up the stairs came closer, Blue let the energy veil its eyes again. In one long, trembling final leap, it vanished through the ink-dark portal just as the mouth closed around it, swallowing it completely the moment its tail cleared the edge. And Ichigo—

Ichigo watched it happen. Wide-eyed and frozen, as human as he’d ever been, he watched it happen. Unable to fight or react, standing there as numb and stupid as he’d ever felt in his entire life, nine years old on the riverside, he watched something right in front of his own eyes slip from his fingers. The apologetic glance had said everything.

Blue was gone.

Turning slightly to slump on the edge of his bed, staring eyes wide with loss, Ichigo leaned forward on his knees in time for his entire family to pile into his bedroom. Confused and concerned, they filled the free space and the air with questions and alarm. Inoue just lingered by the door, her fingertips pressed to her lips as she scanned the room.

It was Yuzu who said it.

“Where’s Blue?” she asked, still wrapped in her favourite blanket. Her small fists were clenching it in a white-knuckle grip. “I—I can’t see it. I can’t see anything.”

The silence was damning.

“I think Blue had to go somewhere, Yuzu-chan,” Inoue said softly, but her tone said far more. Karin gave her a startled, open glance. Yuzu just sagged into Isshin’s side. Hunching in on herself slightly, Inoue turned her face away in quiet sorrow. Absently, Ichigo noticed she was still holding the bag of catnip. No need for that anymore, he thought blankly. Not her fault. She’d tried harder than he had.

“It happens, sometimes,” Isshin said quietly, his big hand running over Yuzu’s hair. He was still in his white lab coat, obviously dragged from the clinic. “Hollow don’t always adhere to the rules we establish for the pluses and those at risk of losing their souls. Sometimes, something else calls them. Sometimes they transfer a portion of themselves before they go.” His mouth pinched slightly. “Sometimes they don’t. I’d like to call it the natural balance, but to be honest, nobody knows what causes a hollow to do these things. Blue’s feline instincts probably compelled it to hide itself away before…before.”

Staring at the shining floorboards beneath his toes, Ichigo nodded. It was logical. Everything made perfect sense.

Cats hid before they died.

He’d looked up all kinds of things.

He’d looked up what kneading meant. It meant affection, an old milk-instinct that had translated into relaxation over time.

He’d looked up what licking meant. It meant pack, pride, it meant acknowledgement into a family of one. A scent-transfer to include him.

He’d looked up purring, something he’d tried to ignore in the dark hours of the night. It meant affection, contentment, trust.

All the things Ichigo hadn’t known how to explain back, since there hadn’t been a way to really tell it.

Scanning the wooden slats beneath his feet, his clouded gaze finding nothing to hold onto, Ichigo tried to hold in the hot breath that threatened to become something else. Sometimes, important things left. Sometimes they didn’t explain.

He was an idiot for becoming friends with a hollow, anyway.

As Isshin herded them all out of his room, his gaze serious and steady, Ichigo tried to find an anchor for everything swarming through him. He could follow through the garganta, even if it meant turning up in Hueco Mundo somewhere in those endless thousands of miles. He could try. He could—he could scream for Blue, miles and miles he could flash-step in and out of sight. He could _look._

Cats hid before they died.

Blue had barely been able to move.

Something had gone wrong.

He’d done something wrong.

Ichigo sat there for what felt like hours. The sun set at his back, the night pushing through the sheer curtains behind him. The room dropped into gloom and shadows, streaking blue light across the floor as the moon moved through its phase.

Blue was gone by choice. It was more control than the last hollow who’d left him had. He’d just been a soft place to land for a while. Maybe back then, the first they’d met, it had known all about it, when it laid still and would have let him draw his sword.

Maybe Blue had let him delay the inevitable. Maybe—maybe Ichigo had made a few more weeks worthwhile.

Sitting there in the growing dark, it didn’t seem like much.

Sitting there in the growing dark, it was all he had.

“Seeya round, Blue.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

In the wake of Blue’s departure, Ichigo found himself crumbling in ways he hadn’t expected—and a few he’d known would hit him like a sledgehammer. But he was no stranger to loss or sadness, and if Ichigo knew one damn thing it was that he could endure just about anything.

So what if he couldn’t stand to sleep in his bed? The couch would do.

So what if he couldn’t get more than a couple of hours each night? He didn’t have anything to concentrate on.

So what if his night terrors contained reiryoku-hazed eyes? One nightmare was like another.

Ichigo had experience with loss. He was as used to it as the sword on his back.

But the family suffered too, which was a little worse. Yuzu had started toting Kon with her everywhere she went, and in a change from his usual attempts to run to freedom he hung obediently in her grasp. Karin kept her stiff upper lip as usual, but there was a knot in her brow when she looked at Ichigo and saw his pallor, his shadowed and exhausted eyes. He was worrying the hell out of his tough little sister and he couldn’t figure out how to lie well enough to convince her.

Isshin just watched all three of them with quiet concern, reducing his hours at the clinic under the guise of Ishida’s dad freeing up more beds at the hospital recently. Everyone knew it was bullshit, and the family dinners were silent, stilted affairs but Ichigo made sure he ate what he could and thanked Yuzu for her hard work in the kitchen. Appearances mattered. It wasn’t all just about him and how he felt. He couldn’t let the family worry.

Ichigo had experience with loss. Crushing it down so that he didn’t make a fuss had to be some sort of coping mechanism.

Blue had only been part of his life for six short weeks. Barely even that, really. But the gaping hole it had left behind had ragged edges, and Ichigo’s life seemed to have turned colourless in its wake. The days marched on in an endless line, and he kept waiting for himself to get better. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the day after that. But he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Like an idiot, he’d let Blue in too far, too easily. He’d let it patch another old grief and now what did he have? Fucking issues. Couldn’t sleep. Food didn’t seem to have flavour anymore. What the hell had he done with his days before Blue? Why couldn’t he remember?

Sure, Ichigo had experience with loss. But he didn’t know a damn thing about moving on.

* * *

“Take one before bed each night, and keep regular hours,” Isshin said without preamble one evening, dropping a small white pill container onto Ichigo’s desk. Grabbing it reflexively, Ichigo turned it over and leaned back in his chair. The label showed an incomprehensible name. “I know you said no medication, and I’ve respected your decision thus far, but you’re on the brink of collapsing—”

“Dad, I’m fine,” Ichigo cut in irritably. He was doing almost everything irritably lately. “It’s just more of the same. I’ll adjust. I don’t need you fussing over me and writing shady prescriptions.”

Isshin frowned. Rather than retreating like he usually did, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed. His sigh was deep. It was an immediate bad sign. Reluctantly, Ichigo turned his chair to face him.

Ichigo knew what he looked like. He saw himself in the mirror each day. He’d lost a little weight. His hair and skin were dull. But it was his eyes that were the dead giveaway. Smeared with pale lavender shadows, they were glassy from weeks of sleep deprivation, scant hours snatched here and there when he could trick himself into believing he might not dream about anything. That he was doing just fine. He didn’t have any post-traumatic whatever that Isshin kept hinting at. He didn’t need sedatives, or things that made his brain foggy. He just needed peace and quiet. He needed to move on from all the shit inside his head.

Yhwach was dead. Grimmjow was dead. Blue was dead.

Shit happened. The world was safe. He was safe. Some other things were lost, sure, but on the whole he was pretty lucky.

Leaning forward until his elbows hit his knees, Ichigo covered his face with both hands.

“Why the hell can’t I get over this?” he croaked tiredly into the darkness behind his eyelids, watching iridescent spots stain the black. “Not just Blue, before that. Everything. When the hell did I break?” He felt the warm, heavy pressure of Isshin’s hands grip his shoulders through a numb layer of exhaustion. His eyes felt like gritty rocks grinding in their sockets. His bones ached like an old man’s. “Yhwach’s whole thing was—futility. Fate. Me just being useless again and again and again. Everyone leaning on me like I could do it and all I could see was myself failing. I thought when he died that feeling would leave, but I wake up feeling like there’s bricks on my chest and hands around my neck, and all I see are eyes in the dark—” Throat aching with the effort of keeping himself under control, teeth clenching down hard, Ichigo tried to swallow the rising lump that said he was close to losing it altogether.

Isshin’s hands tightening on his shoulders were Ichigo’s only warning before he was yanked out of his seat. His eyes snapping open blearily, he felt himself turned and thumped down on the mattress alongside his father, who pulled him in and crushed him inside a punishing circle of muscular, hairy arms. Startled out of his despairing train of thought, he immediately tried to squirm free to no avail.

“Just go limp and wait it out,” was Isshin’s advice, spoken into the crown of his head. He sounded a little choked. “Because I need to hug my son.”

“But we don’t hug.” Not that they didn’t have their bonding moments, their understandings, but hugs? Isshin’s hugs were for Yuzu and Karin. But the big arms around him were solid and grounding, and inside them Ichigo felt a little less like glass, a little more like human.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Isshin replied, just as the bedroom door creaked slightly.

“Too late for that,” Karin said, and launched herself at them both right there on the bed, but it was only to dart around to Ichigo’s other side, throwing his pillow on the floor so she could loop her arms around his neck in what felt more like a headlock than an embrace. Grunting, he barely recovered in time for Yuzu to bolt in like she was competing for the damn Olympics, vaulting the bed frame to plaster herself against his back. Her thin arms wrapped around his chest like she was about to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.

“Why are you all so bad at hugs?” Ichigo wheezed, surrounded by warmth and three different heartbeats all squashed up against his own. “Were you two eavesdropping this whole time?”

“Yeah,” said Karin, driving her knife-sharp chin into his shoulder. “It was intervention time.”

“I thought we were calling it ‘aggressive family love time’ though,” Yuzu said between his shoulder-blades, “since intervention sounds bad.”

“They both sound bad,” Ichigo told them, feeling Isshin’s hold break so he could grab all three of them up at once.

“We are terrible at this, so we should absolutely do it more often,” Isshin said, and squeezed so hard Karin yelled in Ichigo’s ear. One of his ribs raised a white flag. “Now, family, we’re going to clean this filthy young man’s room.”

“You what?” Ichigo blurted, but they were already shoving him out the door and into the hall. His bedsheets and blankets followed. A pillowcase hit him in the shoulder. From all the whoops and yelling, they were either stripping his bed or destroying the place. Karin slammed the door before he could get back inside.

“Go have a shower!” she ordered from inside his room, her voice muffled. “Your head smells like grandpa.”

“We don’t even have a grandpa,” Ichigo yelled through the door, offended beyond all logical reason. “And you’ve got all my clothes!” The door opened just far enough for some jeans and a red hoodie to come sailing at his face. Grabbing them both before they could bean him too, he scowled and turned on his heel.

Kon stood in the hallway, hands on his fuzzy hips. His usual comical mischievousness was completely absent. In fact, Kon in general had been mostly absent, laying low in Yuzu’s room the last few weeks.

“You’re late for aggressive family love time,” Ichigo said, scratching his earlobe awkwardly. Kon’s face contorted.

“That sounds illegal. I’m here to tell you that I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

“That sounds illegal,” Ichigo replied. He shifted his clothes from hand to hand. “Besides, I’m not taking those meds just yet. I think I’ll come through okay. I was doing okay before…Blue, so I’ll do okay after.”

“And drop dead in the meantime.”

“Eh,” he shrugged. Kon just tutted a little. He tried for a smile. “Seriously Kon, stay with Yuzu. It’s okay.”

“You have no capacity for judgement on what’s okay and what’s completely screwed up in your life, Ichigo. You’re talking to a stuffed animal.” Ichigo huffed something like a laugh that seemed to surprise them both. Staring at the floor, Kon scuffed his oversized foot slightly. “I suppose I get it. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

“Kon,” Ichigo said, touched. “I thought you were mad at me this whole time.”

“I’m always mad at you,” Kon said emphatically. His face puckered up in a sour sort of frown. “But I’d probably nobly sacrifice myself to save you, if the occasion called for it. Even though you throw me through doors and violate me trying to get my soul candy out.” He crossed his arms. “But I guess I also…have a strong emotional attachment to you.”

Ichigo leaned in slightly.

“You trying to say you love me?”

“Fuck off!” Kon finally cracked and ran down the hallway, practically throwing himself down the stairs. The moment he disappeared from view his voice floated back. “Yes!”

Mystified, Ichigo flexed his hands around his clothes, slowly bringing them up to his chest. He could feel his mouth pick up in his first smile in what felt like forever. Stupid Kon.

“Back at you,” Ichigo said to himself, but the din coming from his bedroom made the words inaudible, even to him. Still aching, exhausted and feeling more than a little guilty, he pushed down on the pervasive grief that had been threatening him for the last few weeks, tentatively hoping it’d all just stay gone for a while. But while his family was many things, they just weren’t miracle workers.

Still, he thought as he turned for the bathroom, something felt a little lighter in his chest. Maybe there was something to aggressive family love time, after all.

* * *

Three a.m. rolled around, and despite every intention to do everyone proud and sleep like a baby, Ichigo found himself looking at the white silhouette of the pill container on his desk with a stubbornness that was quickly fraying into desperation. One pill a night. Regular hours. A few hours where he could black out. The temptation was strong.

Reaching out with sluggish fingers, he stretched up toward the desk—and grabbed his combat pass. Fresh air would help. He hadn’t patrolled for a few days, having lost the taste for it mostly. It wasn’t as though he was needed out there but for his own peace of mind, his own distraction. Leaving his body behind in bed, he slipped out through the open window and into the streets of Karakura at night.

It was a pretty night, if a bit windy. White streaks of clouds were rapidly moving through the starry sky, lit from above by a thin crescent moon. Dry leaves skittered across the cement pavement as he walked, caught up in a chilly breeze that ruffled his hair. The seasons were changing. Soon there’d be orange everywhere, the smell of wood smoke in the air. Bonfires and festivals and all kinds of things that tired him out just thinking about them. Karin and Yuzu would want to go to them though, so he’d make the effort. He wondered briefly if Ishida and Inoue would go together.

He owed Inoue an apology for being such a terrible host that day, having just kind of left her floundering, awkward and upset. He wasn’t even sure what had happened after that, just that they’d all left him alone. Maybe she blamed herself for not being able to save Blue, the same way he still thought about why he didn’t tackle the hollow to the bed and refuse to let it leave. Would that have been better though? Or a hundred times worse?

Trudging down toward the cemetery, Ichigo found himself taking a familiar path. One more turn and he’d rise over the hill where he’d first met Blue. Pausing, he looked at the road, his eyes travelling up to the crest. There was nothing there but weak moonlight and a few parked cars. Maybe he’d cut through the cemetery after all, maybe say hello to his mother.

But for all his plans, his feet turned him toward the road and up that hill, until the crest gave way to the meandering curve of the road as it carried on toward the school. Ichigo breathed in the cold air and willed himself to study every empty, shadowed angle of the street where he stood. Closure, he told himself long minutes later, with fists clenched and shoulders stiff with tension. Finally Ichigo leaned back against a telephone pole, heaved an enormous, cleansing breath, and swore straight up at the clear and starry sky.

Truth was, he’d accepted everything. There was no denial. But that acceptance had emptied him out into a spun glass approximation of himself, too weak and transparent, full up with nothing but echoes. It pissed him off that he couldn’t just clear the hurdle of his own issues and move forward. It pissed him off that he kept remembering things that couldn’t help him. It pissed him off that everyone was so understanding and kind and caring, when part of him wanted nothing more than a fist in his face to clear out all the dust. It was the kind of therapy he could relate to.

There was an old station wagon parked on the roadside, battered and sporting a bent coat-hanger for an antenna. Figuring he couldn’t do it any more damage, Ichigo leapt up onto its roof, swinging Zangetsu off his back and putting his swords aside. He wasn’t ready to go home yet, but aimlessly walking just felt like it would be a circuit of depression. Stretching out the length of the car, Ichigo stacked his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. Worst case scenario, he fell asleep and the owner sped away with a shinigami on their roof, causing him to break both his legs. But on the upside, hey, sleep.

A long, lonely hour passed up there, but the living silence of the night was restful. The wind rolled over and through him, prickling his forearms. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking. It was kind of nice. The dull ache behind his eyes seemed to lessen slightly as the cold air cleared his mind. It might look like he was dependent on leaving his body to get some kind of peace, but really an undisturbed night walk had a lot of merit.

An auditory void of silence opened behind him, strange and pressurised. Working his jaw, Ichigo popped his ears. Blindly, he fumbled for his long-sword. Fucking hollows, all the fucking time. Sitting up with a sigh, bleary and disorganised, he swung his legs over the edge of the vehicle’s roof and blinked at whatever was coming to eat him.

“This is a bad night,” Ichigo started tiredly, lifting his head to glare at his opponent. “You shouldn’t—”

A gust of wind blew from the high ground, rolling down between him and the hollow in a riot of leaves and debris. But there was no mistaking what Ichigo saw. All the insomnia, all the daymares and night terrors, all the wishing and hoping and grieving, _nothing_ could touch what he was staring at, there in the cold black night.

“Shouldn’t what, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez asked, hands jammed in his pockets and a moody frown tugging the corner of his mouth. There was something strange in his shadowed expression. “I’m just out for a walk.”

Ichigo stared. He barely registered the impact of the road under his feet as he slid down the side of the car. This wasn’t—

Spinning on his heel, Ichigo braced his hands on the window of the car, feeling the cold press of glass under his palms. His eyes were too wide. He couldn’t make himself blink. Breathing raggedly, trying to keep himself controlled, he forced his shoulders not to heave as he stared into the black smear of his own reflection. It was okay, he’d just lost his mind. Wishes didn’t come true, and if they did they fell to pieces a few weeks later. He was just hallucinating. It’d pass. It had to pass.

“Oy, not even gonna say hello? What’s your—oh, shit.” Rapid footsteps approached—not real, auditory hallucinations were totally a thing—but Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut, rolling through a desperate, backwards countdown from one hundred, til a long-fingered hand grabbed the joint of his shoulder and hauled him around, pressing two burning palms to his chest between the crossed guards of his shoulder armour. Ichigo’s eyes popped open in time to stare into a sharp gaze he’d left long in the past. “Are you freaking out on me? Fuckin’ breathe or something.”

All Ichigo could do was stare.

It was Grimmjow.

Alive.

Not just alive, but healthy. Whole. Staring at Ichigo like he was pondering whether or not to slap sense into him, lean and tall and dressed back in his zippered black ensemble and silver-worked leather boots, a slightly torn white jacket thrown over the top, looking like something from his espada days. He had the same artfully rumpled hair, swept up and back from his forehead. The same few long strands that fell across his glaring eyes. The same green estigma that blazed beneath them, their angle thinning his face into longer, slanted lines. Pantera was belted at his waist, jutting from his left hip. Ichigo drank in everything his eyes could find and then, finally satisfied, felt slow mortification as his knees started to buckle. Staggering slightly, he tried to right himself and mostly had it when those same hands hooked under his crossed armour and reefed him back up to his full height.

“You are fucked up,” Grimmjow pronounced, sounding oddly offended by his state. And all the while, he didn’t let go. “What happened?”

Ichigo gaped—and swung his fist so hard it crashed against Grimmjow’s cheek and sent them both flying, since he was still hanging onto Ichigo’s guards.

“What happened to me? What happened to _you?!_ " Ichigo yelped as they hit the road together. With no swords, he punched out again and again, sometimes finding flesh, sometimes not. White was showing all around Grimmjow’s blue eyes. “They told me you were dead! It’s been over a year, you asshole! I was—” Stop talking, his survival instinct hissed, and somehow he actually managed to snap his teeth shut on all his confessions and all his wounds in time. He didn’t need to be a mess in front of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. “What the fuck, Grimmjow? What the fuck were you _doing? ”_

“I had some—shit to take care of,” Grimmjow ground out from beneath him, not even trying to get up. He didn’t even look bruised from Ichigo’s assault, but his hair was straggling across his brow. Eyes roving all over his familiar stupid face, Ichigo was winding up to hit him again when he saw something that took the bones from his arm.

“Where’s…where’s your mask?” Ichigo breathed, staring down at two perfectly bare cheeks, flowing down to a sharp jawline he’d never seen in that form from both sides before. “What happened to the teeth?”

“Ah,” Grimmjow said, eyes darting away. “I said I had shit to take care of.” Baring his actual teeth, Ichigo squinted down at pronounced canines, longer than he’d ever noticed on Grimmjow during their battles. Not exactly as long as his released form, but definitely different. “Wanna get off me?”

“No,” Ichigo said blankly, still staring. Almost in reflex to the question, he clenched his fist in the fabric of Grimmjow’s jacket. “I mean—yeah. Sorry.” Scrambling off him, not daring to look away for an instant, Ichigo tried to keep his cool. When Grimmjow sat up and rubbed the back of his head tellingly, he blurted, “Nel said you died with the sternritter guy.”

The moody blue glance he received for that didn’t hold any of the old heat Ichigo remembered seeing. In fact, Grimmjow was the one watching him like he was volatile and unpredictable, eyes scanning all over him like he was looking for changes. In his lap, his fingers twitched and flexed like they couldn’t stay still. Finally, he glanced down the street, then up at the sky. Realisation crossed his face, and something like tension lit his frame. He swore softly.

“It’s complicated,” was all he said in reply. Pushing off the ground, Grimmjow unfolded in one sinuous bend. There was a strange liquidity to his movements Ichigo had never noticed before. “Why do you look like hammered shit?”

It was the kind of question that had a thousand answers, and there wasn’t a single one Grimmjow wouldn’t laugh in his face for. Ichigo set his jaw.

“It’s complicated,” he said evenly, glancing away in pure desperate respite. “Did you come here to kill me?”

Grimmjow levelled him an incredulous look out the corner of his eye. “No. I just—the fuck are you _doing_ out here, Kurosaki? Specifically here. Do you just sleep outside now?”

“Now?”

“I—oh, fucking hell,” Grimmjow said under his breath. “Forget it. Forget I asked.”

For a long, confused silence, they both stared at each other like they’d grown horns. They were butting up against some kind of conversational wall, that was for sure. Ichigo knew he was projecting, he was shoving all his shit onto his old rival in the middle of the night, expecting him to understand why he was dying for answers, for some meaning. But of course Grimmjow had just been minding his own business somewhere, with no idea about anything. And Grimmjow—he’d changed somehow, with his mask, and his teeth. The weird way he moved, like his body was one fluid extension of his mind, perfectly in tune with himself. But then Ichigo had changed and transformed how many times by then? Maybe arrancar could too. Maybe he’d gotten stronger.

Maybe he just didn’t need Ichigo anymore. Over a year, and no word. Pretending to be dead.

Blinking off his stung surprise, Ichigo backed up slightly and got to his feet. He hadn’t even thought of that. Maybe Grimmjow hadn’t come to see him at all. He’d just crashed the party by accident.

“I was just walking,” Ichigo found himself saying. “I didn’t mean to come here. Sorry.” Turning back to the old station wagon, he grabbed both of his swords, but it was just to sheath them in place. There was no life-affirming fight in his immediate future, just a crashing relief and a bruised ego. Wishes came true and then they fell apart, he told himself, half-wanting to laugh at himself for it. The turnaround time was getting better.

Ichigo was about to turn and leave when he realised there was one more thing dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Hey, Grimmjow?”

“What?” The reply was sharp, and full up with things he couldn’t decipher. Ichigo took a breath.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Then he turned and headed back the way he’d come, facing the long drop of the downhill road ahead.

There. Poison released. Life moving on. Being an adult.

“That’s it?”

Ichigo’s feet stopped almost before the rest of him did, threatening to stumble. Carefully, he turned just enough that he could see Grimmjow’s silhouette over his shoulder.

“What do you mean that’s it?” he asked in confusion. “If you’re not here to kill me and you’re not here to hurt anyone—”

“You’ve got no reason to kill me,” Grimmjow finished in a voice like rust. “Yeah, I’ve heard that song before.”

Hesitating, feeling like he was being asked for something more, Ichigo realised he just didn’t have the brainpower or the energy to figure out what it was. _It’s complicated._

Everything was complicated.

“I don’t know what you want,” he said finally, honestly. He was too tired to think. “Did—do you want me to say sorry for Nnoitra? Saving you then?” When no answer was forthcoming right away, he turned fully to face Grimmjow.

That was when Ichigo saw it.

Not the set of his shoulders, which were almost vibrating with tension. Not his hands, which flexed and trembled like he was restraining something in himself. Not the askew set of his brow, almost upturned and knit in frustrated conflict. Not his teeth, bitten down on a lower lip turned white with sharp-toothed pressure. Not any of that.

No, Ichigo turned and scanned up from Grimmjow’s black-booted feet, finding the thick white belts that held his zanpakutou’s scabbard—and one more; black, worn with use, like it had been worked through hands until the leather was butter-soft, its blunted silver studs gleaming softly in the streetlights.

It was Blue’s collar.

Ichigo lost his breath.

And apparently his mind, because he strode forward in three long paces and grabbed it by the front buckle, yanking it so hard Grimmjow was pulled with it, hips bumping against each other in the close proximity. Ichigo barely noticed. It was Blue’s collar.

“This is mine,” Ichigo said hoarsely, a burgeoning anger rising in the back of his brain like a fever. “This is _mine."_

Grimmjow’s hand flashed up to grab his throat, slitted eyes blazing into his. Fingers like steel cabling pressed into the soft sides of his neck with bruising force.

“It’s mine now.” Swallowing around the vice grip of Grimmjow’s insanely strong hand—really, too damn strong—Ichigo reached blindly for the belt. But Grimmjow wasn’t finished. “Some idiot wanted to strangle me with it so his sister would stop touching my ass.” The hand on his throat finally relaxed, leaving a deep ache and reeling shock behind. Grimmjow’s eyes were as blue as sea glass. “I got used to it.”

Ichigo flinched before he could help himself. Hell, he couldn’t help himself at all.

“You didn’t kill Blue,” Ichigo said, his voice barely carrying on a rasping thread of disbelief. “You didn’t meet it—”

“Him,” Grimmjow interrupted with heartfelt emphasis, eyes almost rolling back into his head. “You looked straight at my balls, Kurosaki, you and your damn ape of a father. Why’d you keep calling me ‘it’ when I was a guy? It was fucking demeaning.”

Ichigo stared. Grimmjow. Blue. Grimmjow. Blue.

Was this what a psychotic break felt like?

Neither of them were dead? They were the same?

They were the same.

Ichigo had been mourning the death of two…two _assholes_ who’d been alive the entire time. Missing their presence, warmth, their ferocity, their attention, the need of him—purely _him_ —and everything that came with their strange bonds, their bone-deep instinct to tie together somehow. To find each other. To not let go. Ichigo had been trying to hold onto a lost thing he’d never actually lost at all.

He hadn’t lost anyone. He wasn’t fractured. He hadn’t broken.

Grimmjow had just let him think he had.

Ichigo picked his knee up and slammed it into Grimmjow’s stomach as hard as he could manage, which was pretty damn hard. Reiatsu unleashed, the glass windows in the buildings and cars surrounding them blew inward, shattering into shards so small they might as well be sand. Grimmjow himself flew backwards until he could execute a single clean flip, landing in a twisted crouch so instinctive it looked like it had come straight from the discovery channel.

“You,” Ichigo shook out, “you lied to me. You used me.”

Grimmjow’s eyes slid right, studying the cemetery at the bottom of the hill. “Technically—”

“ _You used me,_ ” Ichigo repeated, his throat so choked on the leaden realisation he could barely breathe. “You hid like a coward and you used me. Was it fun, you asshole, watching me like that? Watching me _miss you like that? "_ he yelled, each breath like a tearing sob in his throat. “Seeing my family act like idiots around you? My friends? Laughing yourself to sleep while you pulled one over the stupidest fucking shinigami in existence? Watching me wake up, night after night like a fucking snivelling toddler, screaming for—”

“Shut up!” Grimmjow roared, blinking forward in a step to shove him against the frame of the car at his back. “Shut the fuck up, Kurosaki! You don’t know shit!” Inches from his face, breathing like a winded thing against his turned-away face, Grimmjow’s grip tightened like he wanted to break, like he wanted to tear and shred. Then his ferocity faltered, eyes scanning his features for something that wasn’t there. “You—you don’t know shit.”

Shoving the hard weight of the arrancar back, Ichigo didn’t reach for his swords. He was too angry for that, too tangled up in everything he’d just learned. Instead he pulled a long breath of cold night air into his lungs and lifted his head, shoulders drawing back into straight lines. Ichigo forced his eyes to clear, forced himself to look Grimmjow right in his hateful, lying blue eyes.

“I know one thing,” Ichigo said, swallowing the husk out of his voice. “You should hold onto that belt. It’s the last thing you’ll ever be getting out of me, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. For all I care, you can hang yourself with it.”

“Kurosaki—”

“I’m done,” he said, and the ring of his voice made it feel like the truest thing he’d uttered in more than a year. “I don’t care what you do, or where you go. Just stay the hell away from me.”

Breathing harshly, Grimmjow reached out before he could flash-step away. Anticipating his moves, because he’d learned them up close.

“You can’t just shut your fuckin’ ears, Kurosaki—”

Spinning on his heel, Ichigo slammed his closed fist into the unmasked right side of Grimmjow’s face. He felt the impact almost splinter his knuckles, because of course Grimmjow would come out of the last two months stronger than ever.

“You beat me,” Ichigo told him, feeling every bit as chewed up and tired and burned out as the entire last year had left him. “And you never had to draw your sword. Congratulations, Grimmjow. You fucked me up in the most low-down, cunning piece of shit method known to the entire universe.” Feeling his mouth tremble, willing it down, he said, “Aizen would be proud.”

Grimmjow’s expression fell open, his hackles dropping until he stood slack right there in the middle of the road. Hands empty, eyes wide, just standing silent. Ichigo only turned away, his eyes on the bleak dark path back home.

Whatever it had all been for, he didn’t care.

Maybe Ichigo was a slow learner when it came to things like that, but he got there, in the end.

Grimmjow wasn’t worth it.

Taking to the sky, Ichigo fleet-footed his way from the hill crest.

He didn’t look back.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Grimmjow what felt like an eternity to uproot himself from where he stood in the middle of the road. Lifting his hands, he looked down at his palms. Slowly, he turned them over, watching his fingers. Still not quite steady. His face hurt.

There hadn’t been much of a plan for his return to Karakura, other than to get his bearings and go find Kurosaki, maybe put a smile on his face. Do a good deed and all that. It hadn’t been because he’d been missing the asshole like he’d had something amputated, like he’d left something he needed on the other side of the garganta that day. Nothing like that.

It had been a month, maybe. Kurosaki’s hair seemed a little longer. He knew the evolution process had been slow; the bone chrysalis that had crawled over him had been thick and suffocating. Coming out of it had been some kind of horrifying rebirth—just his raw skin and his sword, shuddering from end to end, white shards all around him. There had been only one damn objective in mind: to get his shit together, get some clothes and get back to Kurosaki.

Some plan, Grimmjow thought, curling his fingers down into fists. Even the wind blowing around him seemed like it was laughing in his stupid fucking face.

Because Kurosaki had been _right there_ _,_ sitting on top of a car like he’d known the exact time and place he’d turn up. Looking at him like the ground had just dissolved under his feet. Face like fuckin’ chalk. No time to think. Just Kurosaki’s heartbeat slamming under his hands, warmth pouring through his uniform. Warmth he could actually feel again. It was the best thing he’d touched since his evolution. Since forever.

That belt had really fucked everything up. Glaring down the sloping curve of the road, Grimmjow grit his teeth, feeling the indent of their points on the inside of his lips. He wasn’t quite used to his body yet. Hands, feet, standing upright, clothes. His sword. Nothing sat easily on him. His body felt misshapen, unsteady.

He hadn’t meant to make Kurosaki hate him.

What was he supposed to do now? There wasn’t any other way to look at it: he was lower than dirt in Kurosaki’s eyes. He’d called him coward. Liar. Didn’t even want to look at him, let alone fight him. Let alone—anything else. What was he supposed to do now?

That was the thing, he thought, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, ‘cept wherever Kurosaki was. There was no plan. No goals. He hadn’t even bothered to think past the point of seeing him again.

Pathetic, really. If he was Kurosaki he’d have just slid the sword straight in between his ribs. Really put him out of his misery.

But that wasn’t how that shinigami worked. He’d lead a thousand hollows to the slaughter with bait, but one useless jaguar was just too much to bear. Easier to leave him toothless with just a couple of words, standin’ there alone in the middle of the street. Left like trash. Left feeling like trash.

Turning slightly, he stretched out his hand, ready to slice through the dimensions and open the black throat that would take him back to Hueco Mundo. His fingers still weren’t steady. Skin still felt raw. His hierro hadn’t come back in the way it should have.

Nothing had come back the way it should have.

_Fuck._

His arm dropped. If Kurosaki wouldn’t have him, there was nowhere else in the damn universe that was any better or worse than exactly where he stood. He might as well just roll the fuck over and die, same as he’d hoped for that first night, right there on the road. The form didn’t matter. The strength didn’t mean shit.

None of it meant shit compared to the ravaged expression on Kurosaki’s face when he’d looked at him, deathly white with eyes like bruises.

_Aizen would be proud._

“Yeah,” Grimmjow said to the night, touching his unmasked jaw. “Guess he fuckin’ would be.”

* * *

Ichigo woke up hunched in the corner of his bedroom with a racing heart, still outside his body. His swords were on the other side of the room near the wardrobe. He didn’t really remember putting them there. He didn’t really remember anything after he got home except pacing himself into what felt like a small coma. Talk about burnout. From the sunlight coming in the window, it was probably mid-morning. He’d count those few hours of sleep as a win if his body didn’t still feel like death might actually be a relief.

Grimmjow was alive.

Grimmjow was Blue.

That irreplaceable adjuchas asshole he’d befriended, the one that had sat by him through the night, who’d scrapped and fought with him, played with him and listened to all his bullshit had just been Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez getting his sick kicks, deceiving his way into the house. Pretending to be mute. Pretending to give a shit so he could find all his weaknesses, probably. Well, Grimmjow could rest easy: Ichigo had them in spades. Not that it mattered. If he ever saw that damn arrancar again he couldn’t properly say for sure he wouldn’t absolutely lose his mind. It was sick. The whole thing was sick and twisted. Stalking him from inside the house. Making him care. Tricking him into feeling better, into being happy, into—

There was a commotion coming from downstairs, rising anxious voices and his father’s baritone overlaying them. Struggling to get up and back into his body, Ichigo threw off his blankets and got out of bed, barely noticing he’d gone to bed wearing only yesterday’s jeans. Staggering a little into the hallway, he made it downstairs to hear frantically hissed bids for quiet. Rounding the corner, he stared groggily at his sisters. Yuzu had her spatula in hand, her mouth flattened into a serious line. Karin was trying to get out of the arm-lock Isshin had her in, her legs kicking out in midair.

“What’s going on?” Ichigo asked warily, knuckling some sleep out of his eye.

“There’s a weird hollow guy at the door,” Karin said fiercely. “I’m gonna go kick his ass.”

Ichigo’s insides turned to ice water. Casting his senses out, it was like brushing up against a brilliant blue flare, obnoxiously bright and hot, located just outside the family home. Grimmjow. What the hell did he want? Hadn’t he done enough? Ichigo had made it pretty damn clear he didn’t even want to be in sword-swinging proximity to him. He didn’t want anything to do with him.

Isshin’s eyes were grim as he looked over at Ichigo, taking in his hunched posture and half-dressed body with disappointment. No pills, he was probably thinking. Whatever. Ichigo walked up to Yuzu and took the spatula from her hands, whacking her lightly on the top of the head with it. When she reached for it again he stuck it in his back pocket. He turned to Karin, who was a moment away from biting Isshin’s arm.

“He’s an arrancar,” Ichigo said flatly, “and his name is Grimmjow. But you’d know him better as Blue.”

Isshin sagged in surprise, his mouth opening on a wordless sound that could have meant anything. Karin was so stunned she didn’t even fight her way to freedom, simply standing there staring at him like he’d just told her pigs actually could fly. Yuzu turned on her heel and ran to the front door before anybody could stop her. Cursing, Ichigo ran after her before she could launch herself at the psychopath she’d thought of as a member of the family.

“Yuzu!” he yelled as she yanked open the door, running blindly out onto the entrance decking in her little duck pyjamas, head turning every which way for the semi-visible aura that was all she could sense. “Yuzu, don’t!”

Ichigo made it out the door only moments after her, but the sight he came upon stole his breath.

Yuzu had both her hands clenched on Grimmjow’s belt, her knuckles white with strain. Arms up and out in wary surprise, Grimmjow was staring down at the teenage girl who had tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I stopped watching Greys for you, you stupid blob!” Yuzu yelled at his chest, bright red with emotion. Her eyes couldn’t see him. “You stupid—we thought you’d died! But you were just a liar, you weren’t a cat at all! Blue was ours, you stupid, you stupid—” Choking off with a cracked sob, she shoved him by the belt until he fell back against the bricks. “Give him back! We don’t want you!”

“Yuzu,” Ichigo said raggedly, reaching out to pull her away from Grimmjow before he decided he’d had enough. “Yuzu, I get it. I do,” he said with more emphasis as she butted her head down on the arrancar’s chest, sobbing her heart out. “But Grimmjow’s not your friend. Blue was just a—”

A long arm closed around Yuzu’s thin shoulders, one hand clasping the back of her bedraggled head. Grimmjow folded her in without expression, his eyes shadowed. He wasn’t even looking at Ichigo as he did it, narrowed eyes fixed on some invisible middle distance.

“Sorry, kid,” he muttered. “Never meant for you to give a shit.”

“I gave you my blanket,” Yuzu howled, muffled by his clothes. “My _blanket!"_

In the doorway, Isshin and Karin were staring in abject horror and confusion at Yuzu’s total apparent breakdown on the bloodthirsty arrancar, who was carefully holding her against him. Ichigo tried to think of what the hell he should do, but his head was full of cobwebs and Grimmjow was hugging Yuzu on his doorstep. In the sunlight he looked over-saturated, his hair too bright, his lashes too dark, his estigma too vivid. When he exhaled in resignation, the glint of inhumanly sharp white canines caught Ichigo’s eyes. Teeth like a cat. No mask. But Grimmjow had the same eyes, and just then they were looking right back at him.

“Wasn’t all bullshit,” he said after a brief hesitation. His mouth tugged down in an unhappy frown. “Not that it matters, right, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo went rigid. Reaching out, he physically yanked Yuzu away from him, steering his sniffling sister toward his father instead. Grimmjow didn’t fight to hold onto her, hands sliding away easily. In a smooth folding of limbs he just slid down the wall into a crouch, propped up by the bricks at his back. His hooded gaze was strangely empty as he stared out at the line between rooftop and sky.

Ichigo turned to tell his family to go back inside but they were already going, worried and in Yuzu’s case, tearful. He’d never seen them quite so in tune with him. When the door clicked shut, Ichigo felt the morning air on his skin and wondered what the hell he’d even wanted to say, or why he’d even stayed behind. Hadn’t he said it all already?

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” he said eventually, hoping his crossed arms hid the faint curve of his lower ribs. “It’s not your house. She’s not your friend.”

Grimmjow pulled a breath in through his nose and lifted his chin. His eyes didn’t waver from whatever had captured his attention out there. Ichigo’s mouth flattened. All right.

“Fine,” he grated, turning toward the door. “Stay there if you want. And when you get tired of it, try to hurt someone in this house. I’ll put you down for good.” Straightening up, arms dropping to his sides, Ichigo got as far as his hand on the door handle before the continued silence started to erode some of his confidence. It wasn’t like Grimmjow not to rise to the occasion. Staring at the moulded wood of the door, Ichigo scowled.

“Why did you come back to Karakura at all?”

For a long moment, Grimmjow didn’t even look like he’d heard. Then, slowly, his eyes slid to lock with his. There was something familiar about the emptiness in them. He turned his attention back inward, hands hanging limply over his knees. Dismissing him in frustration, Ichigo pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

One foot inside the house, Ichigo froze, staring blindly at the hallway entrance. His family were clustered there. The girls looked confused and upset. Isshin was just patiently watching him, eyebrows slightly lifted in expectation. Waiting to see what he’d do.

Grimmjow thought he could weasel his way back with a pat on the head for Yuzu and some bullshit unearthed from his time as Blue, listening to him talk about the dead arrancar he never got to fight. Because Ichigo made friends with everyone and everything, like a trusting moron who threw his loyalty after anything that came his way. Swallowing, he tightened his grip on the door handle.

“Well,” he said unsteadily, “you were wrong.”

The door shutting behind him took all the light in the room with it. But to get over all the shit that had been heaped on him by that asshole, maybe a little darkness and solitude was just what he needed.

He didn’t need Grimmjow, and he didn’t need Blue.

In time they’d both just be stale old memories.

* * *

Grimmjow didn’t leave the doorstep.

Three days passed, and he sat there day and night like a statue, never moving, barely breathing.

Ichigo stopped using the front door to get in and out of the house. Grimmjow never tried to follow him. It was like he’d simply sat down with no intention of ever getting back up again. Twice Karin had gone out there with a broom, and twice she’d come back looking like she’d seen something worse than any ghost.

“Waste of energy,” was all she said when Ichigo asked why she’d retreated. “He looks like he’s dead already.”

Three days became a week. Ichigo kept using his bedroom window and the back door. It was just a stupid display of stubbornness, he told himself late one night, sitting up in his bed feeling the flame of blue reiryoku burn steadily in his mind. Some kind of useless, knee-jerk display of contrary bullshit. Grimmjow was one of the least patient people he’d ever met. It was only a matter of time until he got bored and left.

Eighteen days after Grimmjow settled against the wall, on an unseasonably cold and dreary autumn morning, Isshin finally cornered Ichigo in the kitchen, standing startled with the milk carton in hand. Leaning casually on the counter, his father jerked his stubbled chin at the carton.

“You sure you can drink that while your head’s up your ass?”

Ichigo blinked at the milk, then back at Isshin. “What?”

Isshin looked pained. “Masaki, we’ve raised an idiot,” he said mournfully. “An ingrate and an idiot.”

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo just kicked the fridge door shut and headed for his bowl of cereal on the counter. He’d missed breakfast in one of his blackout stretches of exhaustion, which sucked, but he could still fend for himself. While ever his dad wasn’t being a cryptic asshole and standing in front of the cutlery drawer, anyway. Barging him to the side, Ichigo yanked the drawer open. Isshin watched him too closely.

“What?” Ichigo asked again, fed up. He turned back to his bowl. “C’mon, impart your shitty wisdom. Why is my head up my ass?”

“Do you know what I’d give for Masaki to knock on my door one morning like a living miracle?”

Ichigo fumbled his spoon, scattering some of his rice bubbles. “Grimmjow isn’t Mom. He’s a sociopath. He’s—one of those birds that pushes the others out of the nest. You’re talking about your wife, Dad. This guy tried to kill me, and when that didn’t work, he—”

“Do you remember what you said to me the night you brought an enormous killer cat hollow into my house?” Isshin interrupted, crossing his legs at the ankle. “When I asked you why you brought it home, you said it was because it wanted you to kill it. And you couldn’t.”

Ichigo’s stomach twisted. Breakfast suddenly looked as appetising as dry cardboard. “So what? He knew I was that kind of person. It was a good foot in the door, I guess.”

“He was regressed, Ichigo,” Isshin said flatly. “Not wearing a disguise. Do you know how many arrancar in Soul Society’s records of hollows have been listed as having endured regression?”

“Somehow I think you’re going to tell me.”

“None.”

Ichigo said nothing. In his hand, the spoon was starting to curve slightly. “So?”

“So he should be dead.” The impact of Isshin’s palm on the countertop sounded like a thunderclap. “Finally, permanently dead, just like they told you. But he lived, he fought to get back to you, he evolved and now he’s sitting outside our house—and you’re in here making cereal because your sister couldn’t shake you awake this morning. How many tablets did you take at once?”

“I didn’t,” Ichigo said mechanically, then cringed. He’d told Isshin he’d started them. “Nice ploy.”

“Hmm.” Pushing off the edge of the counter, Isshin clapped a light hand to Ichigo’s shoulder. “You know, they say that to forgive is divine. You don’t bear a grudge very well, Ichigo, and your shoulders are starting to look a little lean to me.”

“Lay off the fortune cookie bullshit, will you?”

“Never,” was the cheerful reply. Rounding the side of the kitchen, Isshin strode away. “Oh, tell Yuzu to make a casserole tonight when you see her. I think it looks like rain.”

“Whatever.”

Finally alone in the kitchen, Ichigo turned back to his breakfast only to realise his spoon now resembled a pretzel.

It didn’t really matter. He’d lost his appetite anyway.

* * *

It began raining that afternoon, and it didn’t stop. It was a long, heavy downpour that pattered like white noise against the windowpanes of the house, steady and relaxingly constant. It went into the night, still going by nine p.m. after they all retreated into the living room in a post-dinner lull. The girls were on the living room floor eating ice cream for dessert because they were idiots, while Ichigo just squinted helplessly at a book Ishida had shoved in his mailbox a couple months back, wondering what the hell had possessed him to lend a book about a yellow farm dog in the first place. Beside him on the couch, Isshin was writing up patient medical records in small capital letters.

“How do you spell constipated?” Isshin murmured at one point between reports, looking him dead in the eye.

“With an F and a U.”

“Hmm. What about denial?”

“D-I-C-K-H-E-A-D.”

Snorting quietly to himself, Isshin went back to his writing, pen scratching over the thick old-timey paper he always got Ichigo to order online for him. Shoving his nose back into his book, he read another page and a half before he paused, eyes unfocusing as he cast his senses out in the immediate vicinity. As constant as the rain drumming down, the blue pinpoint of reiryoku was still nearby. Probably sitting under the eaves to stay dry. Ichigo silently re-estimated it’d be more like three weeks before he finally left. Two could play his waiting game. Whatever he was waiting for, anyway.

While Karin and Yuzu played rock paper scissors for what to put on TV next, Ichigo found himself listening to the cadence of the rain outside. The gutters were emptying well, but it was a lot of water pouring through them. Beside him, Isshin looked like he was nodding off a little. Ichigo capped his pen before he could scribble all over his reports by accident.

Ten o’clock came and went. Eleven passed by in a blur while the others finally went to bed. Still feverishly reading, Ichigo started to harbour strong suspicions that something was going to happen to Old Yeller or Travis. Ishida would be the kind of asshole that gave him a book like that. Not wanting to reach the end of the story, just in case, he bookmarked the page and slammed the book shut, finally stretching his legs out on the vacant couch. He could finish it in his room.

As he switched off the TV and began turning off the lights downstairs, the wind sounded like it was picking up, driving the rain in from the east. By that time of night with the weather they’d been having lately, it’d be an icy deluge hitting the entire front doorstep. But it wasn’t like hollows could catch a cold. Maybe it’d be the final thing to drive him off.

Standing in the centre of the living room, Ichigo wondered if he really was being an ingrate. A month ago he would have moved mountains if it meant he could bring Grimmjow back, could save him from whatever that sternritter had done in his death throes to take Grimmjow with him. But the reality was nothing like that heroic daydream. The reality was he’d unknowingly cracked open his ribs and showed all his worst and weakest flaws to someone he’d only ever wanted to respect him as an equal. Looking at Grimmjow was the same as looking at all of those fucked up nights hyperventilating awake in his room, tear-blind and terrified for those few horrifying seconds. It was the same as confessing all his misgivings and failures right to his face, instead of burying them down where they belonged. Grimmjow knew everything about him. Everything. All the worst parts, the dumb shit he said when nobody was around, all the things he hid from everyone else. Blue had been his confessional and his friend, silently listening and occasionally fiercely judging when he needed it. And all the while, it had been Grimmjow.

They’d been sleeping in the same bed for weeks. Ichigo had spent the entire time since he found out trying to convince himself that Blue had been some split personality. Some other, nicer facet of the arrancar who wanted nothing more than to defeat him and gut his corpse like a fish. Nothing matched up with the truth. Nothing fit where it used to anymore. Had Grimmjow been able to change that much? Or was it just one long lie?

Turning to the front door, uncertainty beginning to pluck at the knots of his resolve, Ichigo tried to imagine just what the hell could compel Grimmjow to do those things in the name of gathering intel on him. He couldn’t come up with a single damn thing. Which meant what? He’d just wanted to? When in Rome?

_Thought you’d be happy to see me._

The apology in Blue’s eyes as it struggled with its—his—last reserves of energy, trying to hold off whatever was happening.

What was he back for?

_Wasn’t all bullshit._

Listening to the house creak as the driving wind intensified, Ichigo felt his heartbeat start to pick up as a pit began to open in his stomach. Before he could talk himself out of it, he ran for the front door, tumbling the locks until he could yank it open. The lash of rain that hit him in the face was shockingly cold. Flicking the outside light on, he blinked at the empty doorway. But—

Seated there like he’d never left, Grimmjow was folded down against the wall, his head lowered almost to his chest. The eaves didn’t extend that far, leaving him completely exposed to the weather where he’d sat for over two weeks. Saturated with rain and white with cold, Grimmjow barely stirred as the yellow light from the doorway cut across his drenched body. Ichigo’s breath caught as Grimmjow slowly raised his head, wet eyelashes lifting a gaze to his that was as empty and unfocused as the one he’d seen that first night, out there on the street with a hollow that had all but handed himself over to death.

An emotion seized Ichigo around the throat, and it felt a lot like shame.

Grimmjow hadn’t been waiting, he’d given up.

“Oh god,” Ichigo said thinly, the sick twist of realisation turning his stomach. He lunged out into the rain, arms outstretched to grab the hunched-over remains of his best and most favourite opponent. Of his friend, his confidant, his reason for being able to sleep at night. He’d _left_ him out there in the pouring rain and cold like some kind of, of—

Grabbing onto slick and freezing forearms, Ichigo slid his hands up to Grimmjow’s elbows and yanked as hard as he could.

“C’mon,” Ichigo gasped as the dead weight of him refused to move, “you’re coming with me.” With rain drumming down on the back of his head and his clothes slowly seeping with water, he unfolded Grimmjow’s lanky form with sheer force, dragging him up through the front door and into the shelter of the entry. Shoving the door shut behind them and locking it with prejudice, Ichigo used his shoulder to hold Grimmjow up until he could prop him against the wall. He was so unresponsive it didn’t seem like he could stand on his own, but when Ichigo drew away he locked his knees and stayed there, pouring rainwater from his clothes. His hair was falling over his forehead in dark blue tendrils, looking longer and softer with the weight of water holding it down. Before he could think it was weird, Ichigo threaded his fingers through the hair at his brow and pushed it back, accidentally tugging his head up with the motion. The eyes that met his were dull.

“Hell are you doin’, Kurosaki?” The rasping voice that left Grimmjow sounded like it had been dragged from the bottom of his soul. “’S just some rain.” He didn’t move or protest the fingers still tangled in his wet hair, and Ichigo didn’t pull them away.

“I’m not really a fan of rain,” Ichigo replied, his heart pounding slow and hard in his chest. “Bad things happen in the rain. Stay here. I’m going to get you a towel.” He backed away, hands up like he was shielding a house of cards from falling, but Grimmjow just shook his head, moving like a wooden thing back toward the locked door. Fingers made clumsy from cold tried to work the locks until Ichigo pushed them away. “You’re not going back out there.”

“I’ll be back out there when the rain stops. No point in this, Kurosaki. You meant what you said.”

“No point in this?” Ichigo said disbelievingly. “There’s no point in sitting on my doorstep like some sort of gargoyle, but you keep doing it.”

Grimmjow reached again for the locks. The hands Ichigo shoved away again felt like ice. Could temperature hurt him? Why was he moving like an old man? When he moved for a third time, Ichigo caught long fingers between his hands and held on. They were both wet from the rain, but the hands between his were so cold they almost put out a chill of their own. His own must feel like an inferno by comparison, Ichigo thought absently, til he looked up at Grimmjow’s face. He was white as a sheet, his mouth gone pale from cold. The slant of his estigma was almost burning green against his pale skin. Lips slack, eyes fixed on the fingers curled around his, Grimmjow shuddered violently all over.

“You’re pretty warm for s-such a worn out piece of meat, Kurosaki.” The breath he pulled in after his words hitched uncontrollably. He was shivering. “This body doesn’t s-seem as good as my last one.”

Staring across as Grimmjow tried to smother his reaction to the cold, his head sagging til their foreheads almost met, Ichigo thought about lies by omission, about hurt and betrayal, and about letting someone grieve for a year over a corpse that didn’t exist.

Then he thought about long hours pressed up against a rumbling pillar of white and black, his face buried in short fur dark enough to block out all the eyes inside his mind. He thought about adrenaline-high tracks through the woods, racing each other and laughing til it hurt. He thought about startlingly intelligent eyes watching him trim lethal claws down, about Yuzu pointing out all the characters of her TV show to a hollow with pricked ears, about a roar that almost split the air in the moment a cobra hollow had lunged to take his life. It was Grimmjow. It had always been Grimmjow, when none of it would have gained him a damn thing.

Ichigo could understand why a lonely adjuchas might want to make a home out of his house, his life. Why it might take his help, his care and his family and watch over him in return. But he couldn’t understand why Grimmjow ever would. That was the impossible disconnect between Blue and him, the part he couldn’t seem to make fit.

Letting go of the cold hands clamped between his own, Ichigo stepped back and glanced down the hallway. It was still undisturbed and silent. Around them, the only sound was the drumming of rain against the door and frosted windowpane, constant and cold. There was no way he could send Grimmjow back out into that. He tilted his head toward the house.

“Go use the shower. It’ll warm you up.” When blue eyes flicked up to his, Ichigo added, “I don’t think a towel is going to help much. You’re completely soaked.” It wasn’t an exaggeration: water was pooling around Grimmjow in a ring as it ran out of his clothes and hair. He finally seemed to notice as he looked down at himself. His nod was absentminded and Ichigo almost turned away to gesture into the house, until Grimmjow leaned down and pulled off his boots. And unbuckled his belts. And—

“What are you doing?” Ichigo asked as a white jacket hit the floor with a wet slap. The muted hiss of a zipper followed, revealing a pale wedge of Grimmjow’s chest and stomach. It stopped just at the hollow hole that punched through his midsection.

“Your kid sister’ll be pissed at the mess,” he grunted, pushing the sodden black layer of his outfit down to his hips. Ichigo watched with startled eyes, trying to process the explanation. Yuzu. Right. “I’ll leave this shit here.”

Grimmjow didn’t seem particularly bothered when Ichigo neglected to turn his back, instead peeling his clothes off and dropping the entire lot in a heap beside his boots. Raking his hair back off his face in one drenched wave of blue, he reached down with an unsteady hand to grab his sword. Completely naked from wet hair to wet feet, Grimmjow turned on his heel and blurred out of the entrance, sonido carrying him to the bathroom in one barely-visible lunge of movement.

Ichigo looked down at the pile of clothes, then at the studded belt peeking out from beneath the black jumpsuit. At the back of the house, the sound of pipes gushing hot water competed with the rain.

Whatever he’d thought would happen once he dragged Grimmjow inside the house, doing laundry hadn’t been it.

“I guess this is happening,” Ichigo said to nobody in particular, and reached down to gather everything up. Not for the first time, he wondered if his stupid soft heart was more liability than asset.

Guess he was going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joke's on grimmjow; ichigo has no idea about separating lights and darks


	9. Chapter 9

While the washing machine ran its cycle, Ichigo loitered in the laundry for a while with the full knowledge he was being chickenshit, hiding while Grimmjow used all the hot water in what seemed like the longest shower in living history. Mostly he was trying to process that Grimmjow was even inside his house. He knew exactly where everything was because he’d actually been living there for weeks. Slowly, the disconnect between the two was shrinking into some strange grey area Ichigo wasn’t sure he could safely touch anymore.

While the washing machine rattled and rumbled against his back, Ichigo wondered if he could just wash everything and sleep on the couch.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know the answers to the questions tangled up in his head, or that he was scared to find out what they were. It was having to look Grimmjow in the eye and know he could read him inside and out. He knew all the worst ways to gut Ichigo and had every tool at his disposal to do it.

Behind him, the washing machine spun itself out and beeped its completion. The following silence felt heavy, but Ichigo pulled himself up and spread his shoulders.

Hoping they wouldn’t shrink or anything, he packed the wrung-out clothes into the dryer and pushed open the laundry window. Their dryer was old and ventilated poorly, but it would dry Grimmjow’s clothes. Probably. Reishi-based clothing still held water that it could evaporate, right? Shrugging to himself, he laid the twin white belts over the washing machine lid for later and took the studded one with him.

Up in his bedroom Ichigo was just barely pulling out something that might fit Grimmjow when the water shut off in the bathroom. He found his longest pair of sweatpants in the back of his wardrobe, grey ones he never wore, and his biggest sweater. It was a comfortable old zippered orange thing with a loose hood and slightly worn sleeves, one of his favourites. Grimmjow wasn’t a whole lot larger than him, but he was taller, his limbs slightly longer. His reach in their battles had always surprised him; the ability to stretch inside Ichigo’s guard something that he’d always had to keep in mind. He put the clothes on the end of his bed and set out changing into something less damp himself. How Grimmjow had been able to stand it for hours without moving Ichigo had no idea.

By the time Grimmjow walked into the bedroom with Ichigo’s towel tucked around his waist, Ichigo was sitting at the head of his bed, knees pulled up slightly. It was a complete coincidence that his combat pass was sitting on the desk beside him. He pointed silently at the clothes, and after a beat Grimmjow reached for them and dumped his towel, shaking out the pants with a frown. Turning his head, he levelled Ichigo with a put-upon glance.

“This is your stuff.”

“You want my dad’s?” Ichigo asked flatly. “I can get you my dad’s.”

Bringing it to his nose, Grimmjow sniffed the soft fabric. His scowl faded slightly.

“It’s clean.” Did he sound defensive? “It’s just been in my wardrobe for a while.”

Grimmjow didn’t say anything, but he was pretty quick to dress himself after that, even if he squinted at the colour of the hoodie and barely bothered to zip it halfway. Hadn’t he been cold?

What the hell was a hollow doing being cold anyway? Grimmjow—Blue had never reacted much to the weather before. Maybe swapping hard plates for soft skin had something to do with it. Ichigo found himself holding his breath as Grimmjow glanced around the room, waiting for him to notice the way Ichigo had planted himself comfortably right in the centre of his mattress, leaving no room for anything else. It went completely ignored: Grimmjow just folded down like an accordion until he sat on the floor at the end of the bed, his back propped up by the side of the mattress. It was the same kind of position he’d been in at the front door. The hell did that mean?

In Ichigo’s lap, hidden by his knees, the coiled leather belt that had been Blue’s collar seemed to catch the lamplight, blunted metal studs shining. It was the only thing about it that still looked kind of new. The leather had been worked and twisted until it was sinuous and soft, if a little cracked in places.

“Why’d you keep this?” Ichigo asked abruptly, lifting it up by the buckle to uncoil like a snake. Grimmjow’s head snapped up. “You hated it then, didn’t you? What is it to you?”

Eyes wide, something held taut and controlled writhed behind his gaze. Grimmjow’s mouth set in a tense line for a long moment, his gaze darting between the belt, the hand holding it and Ichigo’s face.

“It’s mine,” was all he said. It looked like an effort to drag his eyes away from it but Grimmjow did, glaring at the floor between his feet. Beside him, his sword was half-slid beneath the bed, its hilt sticking out in familiar woven blue. Had he put it there before using the shower? “Reiryoku from the evolution usually blows shit up all over, but it survived. Knocked it around though.”

“It clashes with your other belts.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I’ll get rid of ‘em first.”

Ichigo’s hand clenched around the leather until studs dug deep into his palm. “Maybe I want it back. I gave it to a mute adjuchas cat, remember? Not you, sneaking your way into everyone’s good graces.” Gritting his teeth against it, glaring down at Grimmjow’s snapping blue eyes, he grated, “You made my sister cry, you asshole.”

“You ever sat with her through an episode of her Greys show? Kid cried every damn day.” Scoffing under his breath, Grimmjow lifted his chin. “When that elevator death scene with Izzy and George dropped, Yuzu fuckin’ bawled so much I let her blow her nose in my neck fur so she didn’t get her blanket dirty. I still get the song stuck in my head.”

Ichigo had no idea who the hell George was. Sitting there gawking, he wasn’t so sure he knew who Grimmjow was, either. He’d known they watched TV together often, and that Blue had always seemed to pay attention, but this was something else.

“And I wasn’t sneaking,” Grimmjow said with force. “I know how it looked. I know I could’ve opened my mouth at the start and I didn’t. When it happened, going adjuchas, I figured I’d never evolve again. I just wanted a sharp sword in my throat before I regressed to gillian and lost myself for good.” Hunching his shoulders, he pressed the knuckles of his fist down against the floor. “I just wanted to fucking die as me. As Grimmjow. _You’re_ the one who fucked it all up and brought me home, Kurosaki. Think I manipulated you? Made you like me? I just wanted—”

“To die? Bullshit.” Flinging the belt over at him, Ichigo refused to be sorry when it whipped Grimmjow across his cheek. “You picked yourself up inside of an hour—”

“Because I saw _you!”_ Grimmjow snarled. The belt was wound effortlessly around his fists. “I don’t remember this fucking world, Kurosaki! I came here because this town’s full of shinigami and I figured one of those assholes would have a sword to send me up instead of into oblivion. I didn’t come for you!” Shoving his legs out in front of him, grey sweats riding up to his ankle, Grimmjow shoved his heels down on the floor. The eyes he swung to Ichigo were angry, but the edges of his expression held something hopeless. It was in the corner of his eyes, his mouth. Ichigo knew the tells of it because he’d seen his own. “Think I lied? Fuck you. Maybe stop asking questions if you don’t want to hear answers, huh?”

“Then what?” Ichigo burst out, swinging his legs down so he could get up, stiff-legging it to the door so he could shut it. He didn’t need anyone hearing their conversation. Turning around, he strode to where Grimmjow’s bare toes pointed up, strangely delicate. “What stopped you from telling me it was you? Why’d you let me think you were dead?”

“Because I _was_ dead!” Grimmjow yelled, neck straining as he leaned forward. Belt wound around one fist, the other clenched on his sword. His chest heaved, just once. The eyes glaring up at him were shining with something like anger. “Whatever you knew, whatever you wanted to fuckin’ fight or measure up to was dead and gone and I knew it wasn’t coming back. I was _adjuchas_ _,_ you stupid shinigami asshole. Would you front up to me if you lost all your powers and changed shape? Would you tell me your name knowing I was your enemy?”

“I’m not your enemy!”

“Yeah, well I was yours, wasn’t I? Till that sternritter fuck got in the way. Till you thought I was dead.” Something ugly and hateful twisted Grimmjow’s face, turned his eyes dark as pitch. “Bet you wish I had. You’d have gotten your hero then, right? Shinigami don’t like anything that loses and lives.”

“I…” Ichigo tried to think beyond the single line that had frozen his entire thought process. _Because I_ was _dead._ Was it that stupid, that simple? Did Grimmjow think his regard for him was tied to whether or not he could still fight? So, what, he kept his mouth shut and that was his only lie? “I wish you’d known you could trust me.” When Grimmjow’s sneer only increased, Ichigo stepped around his legs and dropped forward onto his knees, staring at the mattress for a moment before he could turn his head and glare right back at Grimmjow. “If you thought you were my enemy, why didn’t you just bite out my throat? What kept you? The big bad shinigami crying in his sleep make you feel bad? Was that it?”

A splayed hand was all Ichigo saw before it slammed into his face and drove him backward onto the floor, his head smacking the wood hard enough to spray silver pinpricks across the inside of his eyelids. Spine aching as his legs flailed out of their awkward position, Ichigo gasped against the warm hand, feeling fingertips dig into his forehead.

“The shit that happened to you wasn’t your fuckin’ fault,” Grimmjow snarled against his ear, hot and humid, bent down low where his mouth could almost brush his skin. “And I had my part in that too. I didn’t help or hurt when it came to that, Kurosaki, and that’s how I squared with myself. I stuck with you, I soaked up all that reiryoku you put out, and I—”

“Get your hand off my face,” Ichigo said, muffled against the palm pressing to his moving lips. “I need to breathe, dickhead.”

“Fuck. Fine.” The ceiling came back into view. Cool air brushed Ichigo’s cheeks, but from a bare inch away, Grimmjow’s eyes were glaring into his. “I never tried messing you up. The thing you wanted? That Grimmjow? Wasn’t me. Wasn’t anything close to me.” The hand he’d removed was pressed to his chest instead, a strong pressure that his heart could beat against. Ichigo blinked up at the ceiling lightshade, switched off and dull.

“I’d have taken you in any shape you came in,” Ichigo said to the ceiling, his eyes fixed and dry. He ignored the tension that ribboned through the hand on his chest. “We never got a chance to know each other. I always wanted that, even though I knew you just wanted to kill me.” Sliding his gaze to the left, he locked with familiar jewel-blue eyes. They were just in the wrong face. “Now you know me, and I still don’t know a thing about you.”

The hand on his chest dug in a little. Grimmjow’s brow knit in a frown. “There’s nothing you don’t know already: adjuchas made arrancar. Aizen’s sixth sword. Got my ass poisoned by a guy with weird hair.”

“You have weird hair,” Ichigo said before he could stop himself. “Weird, dripping wet hair. And anyway that’s not what I meant, I mean small stuff. Dumb stuff.”

“You callin’ me weird and dumb isn’t selling me on this conversation.”

“If the shoe fits…”

“I’ll fit that shoe up your skinny ass,” Grimmjow shot back. His hand slid down over the rack of Ichigo’s ribcage, pressing down into each one over his t-shirt. As close as he was, still bent down around him, Grimmjow was almost eye-level with his chest, looking across it like an uneven plain of cotton-covered skin. “You weren’t sticking out like this last time I was here.”

 _Last time I was here._ It was the kind of casual statement Ichigo was still trying to process. Proof that the two were one and the same.

“You didn’t have hands last time you were here.”

“Saw you naked a lot.”

“Oh my god.” Pushing the hand away, Ichigo tried to roll in the other direction. “These are the things I don’t want you reminding me of.” Even so, he didn’t protest when two hands clapped around his side and rocked him so his back was flat on the floor again. The nose that pushed into the hair at his temple was straight and pointed rather than broad and white, but the sentiment was the same. Too much the same. Oh shit, Ichigo thought with a helpless sense of falling. All that time.

“I was naked every day, Kurosaki. Balls swinging in the breeze—”

“Stop.”

“Don’t picture them. They look completely different now.”

“I _know_ _._ What’s with you and just stripping off in front of me?”

“Clothes,” Grimmjow replied with a shrug, like it explained everything. “I’m still trying to sort out this body. Instincts all jumbled up in the wrong order.” Almost to highlight his words, he ran his hand back up Ichigo’s chest like it was a completely normal thing. Liquid-black pupils followed the motion with unblinking attention. “Can’t go shoving my face in your neck anymore, I guess.” There was a half-question in the statement, and Ichigo knew he should shut everything about it down, right down into the ground, but Grimmjow’s hand was really warm just then.

“It’s not really socially acceptable,” Ichigo said weakly. “But I guess that cat stuff will probably fade, huh.”

“Two evolutions couldn’t shake it, so I doubt it.” The hand slid away though, a small concession of personal space. All it did was remind Ichigo of another instance of physical advantage, completely willingly surrendered. And not by himself.

“You licked Inoue’s chest.”

“That was psychological warfare. The quincy dick had it coming.” Grimmjow’s sudden scowl was terrifying from such a close proximity. “Never fuck with someone who can smell when you’re puttin’ out pheromones.” Pulling away, Grimmjow allowed Ichigo enough space to sit up. He didn’t take it. Legs half-stuck under the bed, knocking against a scabbard, Ichigo wondered if it was a good enough place to just stay in.

“Inoue’s going to be horrified when she finds out.”

“Still more action than she’s seen in her entire life.” The eyes that slid to him were sharp. “Crush wasn’t getting her anywhere.”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

Pushing himself up, still feeling kind of unsteady and muddled up after everything they’d said, Ichigo knelt upwards again. Belatedly, he wondered if Grimmjow was just going to sleep on the floor at the end of his bed like he’d been doing at the front door for the last few weeks. It didn’t seem right, even if it was dry and warm inside. In fact, there was water dripping down Grimmjow’s hairline, driving uneven lines down the side of his neck. He wasn’t bothering to swipe them away. Did he have no personal survival instincts? Or did he just not care?

Grimmjow stiffened only when the towel he’d discarded was dumped back over his head, and it only seemed to be in relation to not being able to see properly. Driving his fingers into the semi-damp roughness of the towel fibres, Ichigo rubbed firm circles into the scalp under his grip, changing direction and making sure he didn’t linger too long on one spot. Working with both hands, Ichigo tried for clinical detachment, but Grimmjow’s half-hidden face was rapturous, almost trance-like with the motions. It put him in mind of the—well, the shower, and scrubbing Blue down with the washcloth when it’d been too dirty, or the hollow blood wasn’t coming out right. It’d always been Grimmjow, he told himself semi-helpfully, and didn’t stop driving circles of motion with his fingers into the wet blue mess of hair under his towel. Maybe nobody really touched him. Remembering back to their fights, it had always shocked Grimmjow when he’d grabbed his hand, or touched him with something other than his sword.

Slinging the towel back and seeing mostly-damp strands of wild blue hair flung every which way, Ichigo pretended not to see the flutter of Grimmjow’s eyelids as he pulled back to himself. Pushing his inexpert fingers through the mess, he tried to make it into a semblance of the style he’d always seen. It didn’t really work.

“Maybe get some sleep or something,” Grimmjow said finally, but he never batted Ichigo’s hands away. “Do that thing where you pretend to sleep and it happens anyway.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” The curve of Grimmjow’s mouth was crooked. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Ichigo wanted to be annoyed by the reassurance of his presence, wanted to say he didn’t need anything like that before he tried to sleep. But as Ichigo slowly stood, Grimmjow pushed the towel to the corner of the room where Isshin’s old six-string sat against the stereo cabinet. He hunkered in against the mattress edge and slid his hands back up the loose sleeves of his hoodie. Staying warm and comfortable. Sleeping on the floor.

Like somebody’s unruly pet.

Staring down at the top of his head, trying to come up with something to say, Ichigo felt strangely hesitant to leave him there. The fond tug in his chest didn’t seem to fit properly, but it was still there and he couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Grimmjow’s head lifted.

“You mean Blue?”

“I mean you.” At the startled glance Grimmjow cut him, his mouth took off before his brain could. “You’re both. I get it.” Ichigo swallowed. “Sorry I—sorry I wasn’t happy to see you.”

“Can’t blame you, Kurosaki. All I did was fuck you up.”

Ichigo’s breath caught. It should have been a statement of self-pity, but Grimmjow’s voice was clear and honest, even when it was to his detriment. Even when it earned him nothing; just a place out of the rain and a change of clothes. He probably thought he’d be kicked out at first light if the weather cleared. Ichigo watched him settle in, tucking his feet gingerly inside the hem of Ichigo’s longest sweatpants. Quietly keeping warm.

“No, you didn’t.” Shit, Ichigo thought, ashamed and wretched at the sight of him. “And you’re not sleeping on the floor. C’mon. You probably take up less room in this shape anyway.”

“’S fine,” Grimmjow said, pointedly not looking at Ichigo’s outstretched hand. “Get yourself some sleep.”

“I sleep better with you.”

Ichigo couldn’t help the heat in his face at the words, or the way his eyes slid to the curtains and couldn’t quite leave. But his hand stayed outstretched and didn’t move, and eventually fingers brushed their way up his palm and grabbed his wrist in return. It was easy after that.

“Are we doing blankets?” Grimmjow said later, after a few seconds of trying to work his face into the pillow. Ichigo had pushed him to window-side, where he’d always slept before. “I never got to do blankets before.”

“That’s because you were covered in bone plates,” Ichigo grunted, untangling his sheets from both of their legs so he could yank them up. “Can I have my pillow back?”

“Then where’s my face supposed to go?”

“Up your ass, I don’t care. Just give me some room.”

“I can’t bend that far. Also get fucked, you can have half.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“I’m not the one squirming my ass up into—”

“Shut up, I am not! Stop spooning me!”

“I’m on my side! My legs just go in this direction!”

What resulted was something between a pillow fight and a murder attempt via blanket and sheet, and it ended with Ichigo’s face smothered in his own mattress, heels up and ineffectually drumming into Grimmjow’s ass. The hand that was pressed down on the back of his skull felt like iron. And then it gentled, sliding back out of his hair until a thumb trailed down the back of his neck, pressing into the knobbly bones that formed the top of his spine. It was sort of nice, nice enough that Ichigo didn’t bother to shove him away the moment he could breathe again. His legs slowly stopped flailing, and for a long moment there was nothing except Grimmjow mapping his way along Ichigo’s neck, his shoulders and the bare skin exposed by his loose t-shirt.

He had some really nice hands, Ichigo thought in the quiet, surprised at how careful he was being. It surprised him enough he forgot to be offended, like he was something that even needed careful handling. For a small, silent while there was just warm and newly-soft fingertips dragging curious paths over his skin, and Ichigo all at once remembered a blunt white nose pressing into the same places, before everything had changed.

Maybe nothing had really changed.

“You know I won’t be able to sleep,” Ichigo said finally, blinking in the darkness at the wardrobe doors. “Maybe you should just take the whole bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Why not?”

The silence was more thoughtful than condemning.

“Guess I sleep better with you too.” The soft rustle of blankets behind him said Grimmjow was stretching out on his side. Warmth hit his back as the sheets were pulled up to cover him. “Never did much of it before I came here.”

That seemed to be that, even if it raised a lot of questions. Ichigo thought about them all as breath hit the back of his neck, the pillow indenting again behind his head. Knees pushed into the back of his, forming a warm cradle he wasn’t sure he disliked. Sure, it was Grimmjow. Grimmjow wearing his clothes, pressing up behind him on the king single bed, quietly studying his skin and bones because he’d lost time there somewhere. But he also felt like someone he could have at his back, forming a barrier between his body and the cold wall behind him.

Just spooning like two guys in a bed together.

Totally fine.

“Is this weird?” Ichigo asked a while later, not feeling weird at all. As though rising to the challenge, an arm slipped over his side and hung limp at the elbow joint, fingers brushing his stomach beneath the blanket. A chilly nose pushed up into the base of his skull.

“Weirder if you were more comfortable with a big naked cat.” The words were sleepy. Grimmjow was sleepy. The night was officially gone for reality and still Ichigo couldn’t help himself.

“But all cats are naked.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Kurosaki. I swear half your issues are just your dumbass brain not living in the moment.”

Enough of Ichigo paused to ponder the truth in that statement that he tried to do just that. Was he thinking too much? Was it weird that he was thinking about the before, the after, and the difference in between? Was—

Shit, he thought with a soundless curse. Grimmjow was onto something. So he tried to stop thinking. In fact, hell, he pushed himself backwards until his shoulders touched a warm chest, and he certainly didn’t give a damn when a deep inhale into his hair rushed past the curve of his ear. He didn’t even care when lips lighter than the brush of air swept across the base of his neck, breath touching his skin. Not doing anything more or less than Blue had: just touching, just scenting his skin. Just checking for differences that hadn’t been there before.

Bones stuck out, Ichigo thought, his eyes sliding shut in the dark. Bones stuck out and all the good bits blown away somewhere. Nothing would follow him home, not the way he was then. God, he didn’t want to dream that night.

It took an hour laying there before his body would even start to unwind. Grimmjow never moved an inch, like he was already asleep with half the pillow taken up by his damp hair and bare face. The steady weight against him didn’t rumble with a thunderous purr, but it was solid and pushed all the way up against him, and maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Pulling in a deep, strange breath that smelled like his own soap on other skin, Ichigo refused to think as he pushed every other thought out of his head.

Across his stomach, a hand splayed out, long fingers catching in his shirt.

It was the last thing Ichigo remembered feeling before he drifted off.

* * *

“Good _morning!_ Did you take the—oh, shoot.” The click of the door snapping shut again fully woke Ichigo up, blurry vision trying to focus on the room. Had Isshin been talking?

“Dad?” The usual flying kick to the head never came. Pushing his face down into the corner of his pillow, Ichigo tried to roll onto his back and felt a solid wall of warmth stop him. “Blue?”

“Close enough,” muttered a familiar sleep-drugged voice, and with it all the memories of the night came rushing back to fill the vacuum. The presence at his back pulled away, arm retreating so that Grimmjow could stretch so hard his muscles vibrated. “You got about four hours in. And now your dad thinks you broke the shinigami code of conduct.”

“Section two-hundred and forty-seven point eight,” said a muffled voice from the other side of the door. Isshin sounded pretty composed for a lurking eavesdropper. “Yuzu, never look that up.”

“It’s sex with hollows,” said Karin, her voice pitched obnoxiously loud. “Dirty, sinful, crime-against-creation hollow sex. Urahara says it’s the biggest taboo there is.”

“Oh no. Is Ichigo going to jail?”

“Probably.”

“Not if we lie about it,” Isshin said stoutly. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

They were all out there? Of course they were. Ichigo wondered if Grimmjow would mind suffocating him with his own pillow. Rolling onto his back, half laying on Grimmjow’s arm, he scrubbed his face with both hands and yawned.

“I should be traumatised by you hearing all of this.” He finally slanted Grimmjow a glance. His eyes were closed, hardly even bothered but for the small angry knot in his brow that seemed ever-present. “Shouldn’t you be offended? They’re basically saying—”

“I know what they’re saying,” Grimmjow said stiffly. “I’d be more pissed off if that’s what’d happened.”

Ichigo wasn’t completely sure what that meant. Sitting up in one lithe movement that stripped the blankets down to his waist, Grimmjow kicked his legs out of the sheets and parted the curtain to look out the window.

“Rain’s gone. What’d you do with my clothes?”

Blinking at the sudden brusque tone, Ichigo felt an odd lurch as he realised Grimmjow probably meant to leave. The excuse of bad weather was gone, whether he’d wanted to use it again or not. But maybe with the air mostly cleared, Grimmjow just wanted to skip town.

“If Yuzu spotted them,” Ichigo said reluctantly, “they’re probably in the laundry. But I’m not sure she’d see them.”

“They’re folded on the floor out here,” said a chirpy voice on the other side of the bedroom door. “You can take them and get out any time, Blue.”

Ichigo winced. “She’s still pretty upset.”

“So are you.” Turning to look down at him, Grimmjow gave something like a shake of his head. Ichigo’s orange hoodie sat askew on his shoulders. His hair was rumpled from sleep, but his eyes were clear. “Hey, thanks for putting me up for the night.” Half-vaulting over Ichigo’s legs, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face.

“Grimmjow—”

“I get it now,” Grimmjow said. His eyes weren’t blank anymore, but Ichigo didn’t like what he saw in them. “What I did. And if I tried to stay you’d probably bitch and moan about it, but you’d let me.” His mouth tightened. “I wasn’t trying to make you come out there last night, Kurosaki. I wasn’t waiting. I just thought I’d sit down til I could figure out somewhere else I wanted to be.”

Something horrible was rising in Ichigo’s chest. Again he saw it; the icy rain pelting down, Grimmjow’s bowed head, his slumped shoulders.

“You were there almost three weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Planting his palms on the mattress, he stood in a controlled rush. Still tangled in the blankets and sheets, still warm from sleep, Ichigo watched with wide eyes. Hadn’t they been fixing it? Why was Grimmjow leaving? “You saved my ass, Kurosaki. I’d be either dead or some mindless gillian if not for you, and I don’t let debts like these go. Not for fuckin’ anything. And I get it now.”

“What is it you think you get?” The bite in his tone couldn’t be smothered. Shoving his way out of bed, Ichigo pushed himself forward and up until he was almost nose-to-nose with Grimmjow’s unsmiling face. “Did you have some stupid epiphany during the night? What? What is it you think you know better than me?”

Grimmjow’s eyes sharpened warily.

“I’m—”

“A moron?” Ichigo cut in fiercely. “Because I got that the first two times you _faked your death on me_ _._ Now if you’ve got a debt you want to repay, I suggest you start by watching that damn doctor series Yuzu likes for as long as she wants you to. After that, we’re going to hit the outskirts where we laid all that bait and we’re going to fight until your hands stop shaking and you know what that body can do.” Planting his hand against Grimmjow’s chest, he wasn’t ready to feel the heart beneath his ribs racing quite like that. It shook out of Ichigo something he hadn’t meant to say. “And you’re not going to leave.”

Looking down at the hand touching his chest, right between the parted zipper, Grimmjow seemed to struggle with something internally. His jaw twitched. His eyes shut, then opened. When he finally looked up again, green-smeared eyes catching the morning gloom, Ichigo read something resolute and raw in his eyes.

“Didn’t fake anything the second time.” A hand lifted to press over Ichigo’s own, holding it there where it might have fallen away. Beneath his palm the drumbeat continued. “When the evolution goes wrong, it explodes like a fuckin’ bomb. I could’ve taken the whole town out. I’d held it off for a week by then, maybe, and it was crawling over me that day. Couldn’t stop it.” The hand over his slid away. “Wasn’t sure if I was dead or not, so I bolted to Hueco Mundo. It didn’t matter what I killed there if I went off.” Reaching up, he touched his unmasked cheek. “Didn’t come out the same, but that’s probably more to do with you.” There didn’t seem to be any accusation in the words, but they struck Ichigo in the stomach anyway.

“I didn’t do anything. Inoue was the one who tried to save you.”

“Nothing you did,” Grimmjow agreed, heading for the bedroom door. “But I’d been soaking you up for weeks, Kurosaki. Day and night right by your side. Think all that shinigami reiryoku didn’t change something in me? Mask’s completely gone. Hierro too.” Without much care, he pulled the door open and reached for his clothes. Squeals of surprise said the family was still there listening. Frowning, Grimmjow looked out at the three of them. “Think I’ve probably got the hide of a shinigami now.” The door shut on them with a condemning click. Slowly, Ichigo listed backward until he could sit on the end of the bed.

A shinigami’s skin. He’d given that to Grimmjow, just by spending his days and nights with Blue, letting it soak up all his latent reiryoku like a charging battery. Filling it to the brim with power that had the potential to alter its evolution irrevocably. Ichigo had a hand in a lot of reality-altering events, but never something that personal. He’d definitely never been informed so casually.

The remains of Grimmjow’s mask were gone because something with that much shinigami reiryoku didn’t need it.

If it was true, Grimmjow was probably right on the cusp of arrancar and visored.

“Sorry,” Ichigo said faintly, feeling stupid and clumsy in his sleep clothes. Under his hand, bedsheets gathered in his fist. “I didn’t know I’d do that.” He glanced back up at Grimmjow to find him stark naked—again—and looking at him like he was an idiot. It was a really familiar look, come to think. For a moment there Ichigo just watched him shake out his clothes and step into the legs of his outfit, pulling the zip back up the moment he hooked lean arms through the sleeveless upper half. The belts came next, and Pantera affixed to them. Finally the jacket, and he looked every inch the arrancar that had stepped out of the garganta in Soul Society that day.

“Told you already, you saved my ass.” Grimmjow folded his collar right way up like he didn’t give a single shit. “Who cares? I’m alive.”

Watching him pat himself down, checking buckles and brushing down his clothing, sniffing the collar of his jacket curiously, Ichigo felt his mouth pluck up in a smile he didn’t even know he still had.

“Guess you are.”

It was probably going to be a mess, trying to fit again, but Ichigo was ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art by peppertea inserted, because grimmjow wearing ichigo's hoodie is a Look


	10. Chapter 10

Ichigo had never seen Grimmjow nervous before, but watching him pace and fidget in the living room while Yuzu glared at his belt was definitely giving off that kind of vibe. He’d been there for a few minutes already, pacing from the kitchen to the wall and back, socked feet whispering over the polished floor as he slouched his way around. Every time he slid a glance to Yuzu he almost jerked away like he’d been burned.

If looks could kill, Ichigo thought with hidden amusement, leaning on the kitchen counter to watch it all play out. Grimmjow had to make a move soon or Yuzu was going to hurl the remote at his big blob outline.

Grimmjow hadn’t taken his words lightly, or scoffed when he said he needed to square with Yuzu if he wanted to repay his debts. In some ways, Yuzu was the one responsible for him even being let in the house with such welcome. Ichigo could have put his foot down and insisted the night he brought Blue home, but it wouldn’t have gone nearly so smoothly without Yuzu’s immediate approval and blessing. Maybe she was a little like him; thinking she’d been used by a hollow, played for an idiot.

Sitting on the couch with her knees drawn up to her chest, Yuzu flicked blindly through channels like she couldn’t even see Grimmjow’s agitated blur moving back and forth in her peripheral vision. Making his return path, hands fisted in his pockets, Grimmjow darted Ichigo a look that was pure frustration.

“She looks like she wants to gut me,” he muttered on his approach. There was disbelief in his tone. “I could smear her on the wall over there and she looks like she wants to gut me. What is she, eight and eighty pounds?”

Knowing Yuzu could hear anything he said in reply, Ichigo just mimed a zipper across his mouth and tilted his head at her. Grimmjow darted her another long look, his brow creasing in thought. This time she didn’t notice, clicking buttons on the remote like they owed her money.

“Can’t be any worse than you, right?” Grimmjow said finally, bringing his shoulders up and back. The fortifying breath he pulled in spread his chest wide. “Nothin’ worse than you.” Before Ichigo could ask what he meant, Grimmjow was turning away toward the couch, steps purposeful as he walked right past Yuzu to the other end of the couch, bending down to grab something. Her eyes very determinedly didn’t follow his outline, except for how they absolutely did.

Coming back with the blanket Yuzu liked to cry in, Grimmjow unfolded it in one whipping motion and…swung it around his own shoulders. It hung over his white jacket in a long, cape-like fall of fleece, pale pink and a little frayed where Yuzu liked to pick at the washing instructions tag. From the couch, Yuzu jolted like she’d received an electric shock, her eyes round with wonder.

“She can see the blanket,” Grimmjow said, looking tense. “If it’s on me, she’s seeing my real outline.” Glancing over to the kitchen, he pointed past Ichigo to the refrigerator. “Bring me that paper and a pen.”

There was a pink notepad stuck to the fridge via a weak magnet, used by Yuzu for her shopping lists. Puzzled but willing to see how it played out, Ichigo was quick to grab the notepad and a black pen from the drawer, bringing it to Grimmjow with an easy quirk of his mouth. It was just too easy to smile at him when he was wearing his sword, scowl and his sister’s fuzzy blanket. The image made no sense. When hands reached back to take the items, Ichigo held on.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, flicking his eyes to Yuzu and back. “If you are, don’t just do it for a debt. She loved Blue.”

“Ichigo,” Yuzu said from her spot in the middle of the couch, her expression aghast. “Don’t say stuff like that! I’m almost fifteen! You can’t just _tell_  people my feelings!”

“Sorry,” he said mildly, but by then Grimmjow had taken the supplies and moved toward her without a word. Taking the spot closest to the armrest, between Yuzu and where Ichigo stood, Grimmjow sat down and started scratching something out on the notepad, angled away from Yuzu so she couldn’t see what it was. Huffing at the intrusion and stubbornly refusing to budge over for more space, she went back to channel surfing like he wasn’t even there. The enormous scowl on her face said otherwise though.

Ichigo didn’t want to give up the game by commenting on whatever Grimmjow was drawing in short, loose strokes, pen pressed heavy to the pink paper. Instead he just watched as straight lines slowly formed a shape he recognised.

“That,” Ichigo said slowly, “is probably the worst drawing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been subjected to a lot of crappy art.”

“Shut up,” Grimmjow said, not even looking up. “It’s a fuckin’ masterpiece. First recorded sketch of an adjuchas by its own arrancar evolution. Ink on shitty paper, by Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.” Putting the final touches on his drawing, Grimmjow switched his grip on the pen and began writing in a simple, surprisingly neat hand. The words each letter formed warmed something in Ichigo’s stomach, and he actually had to restrain himself from doing something silly like touching Grimmjow’s shoulder in approval. With a final loop around the words to form a speech bubble, Grimmjow capped the pen and roughly tore off the piece of paper, half-throwing it into Yuzu’s lap like he didn’t care if she picked it up or not.

Boy, did Yuzu grab that piece of paper. Throwing the remote to the side, she two-handed the sheet of paper so excitedly that for a moment she didn’t even realise it was upside-down. Almost nose-to-paper with it, she turned it around and blinked at the thing her despised arrancar interloper had made. Leaning almost chest-to-ear with Grimmjow to get a good look at Yuzu’s reaction, Ichigo tried to see the piece of paper through her eyes.

On a piece of pink paper from her shopping list notepad, the hastily scribbled shape of Blue’s head was terribly drawn, looking ferocious and a little bloodthirsty. But above it in careful, neat handwriting were four simple words: _thanks for the care._

 

 

__

Yuzu stared in silence at the image for a long moment, wide brown eyes darting from the picture to the words and back.

“Karin was right,” she whispered softly. “Blue really did look like a dog had sex with a cat.”

“Oh, fuck this family.” Grimmjow tensed like he was getting up, but Ichigo pressed him back down, thumb pushing against his jaw to turn his head back in Yuzu’s direction.

In complete silence, staring at the picture held up between her hands, Yuzu was crying enormous silent tears. Not even blinking them away she sat there small and quiet, until her first desperate inhale broke her own composure. Beside her, Grimmjow watched warily, strangely tense.

“Why did you have to change?” Yuzu sobbed, crimping the paper in her hands as she clenched her fists. “I just wanted something that couldn’t talk, because I can’t hear! I wasn’t locked out with Blue around because we were all the same! Now it’s got hands and shoulders and draws pictures, and talks.” Throwing the paper back at Grimmjow, Yuzu looked up between his blanket-covered outline and Ichigo’s stricken face with burning, tear-filled eyes. “Just once I wanted to be in on the story. Just one time.” Knuckling at the corners of her eyes, shoulders shaking, Yuzu sniffed and grabbed the remote again. “Go away, Ichigo. Take Blue, or Grimmjow, or whoever it is with you. I’ll be fine.”

Ichigo’s heart squeezed.

“Yuzu…” But he really didn’t know what to say. Blue had been a lifeline for her in a way he hadn’t even realised. It wasn’t the doctor show, it was that Blue had been mute—seemed mute. “Nobody ever meant to leave you out.”

“Nobody ever does,” she said, but she reached out and took the drawing back, folding it into neat quarters. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss.” Beside her, Grimmjow’s hand was clenched around the pen like he wanted to shatter it in his fist.

“Why is it,” he said with gathering force, staring straight ahead, “that whenever I want to do something to fuckin’ help, it all just blows up in my damn face?”

Caught between the two of them, somehow still outside the scene unfolding, Ichigo tried to think of something he could say to make sense of it. But he wasn’t a talker. Not really. His best efforts came through action, but there was no action to take. Reaching out, he did squeeze Grimmjow’s shoulder then, feeling the hard curve of it beneath the blanket.

“It’s not your fault.” Looking over to Yuzu’s tear-stained face, he said, “It’s not anybody’s fault. But if it had to be someone’s it’s probably mine.” He waited for his sister to wipe her face and look at him in miserable surprise. “I took the lion’s share of spiritual ability, being born first. Karin was the older twin, so I guess she got the majority of what was left—”

“You that desperate to blame yourself for shit?” Grimmjow interjected bluntly, shrugging off his hand. Ichigo snatched it back faster than he probably should have. “That kid smells like food to me. Duds don’t smell like that.”

“But she—”

“She’s never seen real combat with a hollow, has she? Had you protecting her the whole time?”

He was completely primed to answer the question, but as Ichigo looked over at his sister, he had a different idea.

“Yuzu, how many times have you been attacked by a hollow? And what happened to you each time? Grimmjow is asking.”

“Well, I…” Yuzu rubbed her eyes again, her other hand clenched on the folded paper in her lap. Still, her knees turned in Grimmjow’s direction, her eyes scanning for the space above the blanket that might be his head. “A few times, I got hurt. The first was a few years ago, and I didn’t even see an outline back then…” Slowly, she described her encounter with the hollow who’d been dubbed Fishbone D, an attack that Ichigo had been sure she’d had her memory erased of. Maybe as time and exposure went on, things like that couldn’t be smothered by Rukia’s memory replacement drug.

More and more she detailed in a slow, hitching voice, things Ichigo remembered and a few he’d known absolutely nothing about. Don Kanonji had some explaining to do. Had she adopted a ghost cat? There was a precedent for the Blue thing?

Slowly and with eyes on his sister, Ichigo sank down on the arm of the couch, idly patting Grimmjow’s forearm when it re-settled on his thigh. Slowly she told all her tales, her eyes drifting between Grimmjow’s outline and himself, gaining confidence the longer they were clearly listening. God, she even remembered some of the trip to hell, a thing he didn’t even like to imagine anymore.

Finally she ran out of stories to tell, looking confused but brightly energised for the telling of them. The redness in her eyes had receded too; tears replaced by curiosity. Grabbing up the notepad, Grimmjow started scratching out questions.

_Was your blood ever drawn by a hollow?_

_Did you ever make a hollow bleed?_

That last was underlined four times, and slowly it dawned on Ichigo that Grimmjow was actually angling for some kind of answer that he could pin down with his hands, not just trying to get Yuzu to talk about her life as the spiritually adjacent. Yuzu read the words on the notepad and shrugged, then shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said hesitantly. “Definitely no to the second one. What would I do? Smack it with my ladle?”

Grimmjow stared at her hard, his expression tight. Oblivious, Yuzu just blinked up at Ichigo innocently. Her misery had faded into something softer, a little sad but mostly just eager to help. She could always sense when someone was onto something. She’d always had good senses, really—

“I’m gonna stab her,” Grimmjow said matter-of-factly and raised his pen, jamming the hard nib into the palm of his free hand. Dark red blood pooled there almost immediately. Ichigo swore as he turned in his sister’s direction with it, obviously looking to do the same to her.

“You can’t stab Yuzu!”

“I’m a hollow. Hollow blood’s the only sure thing to spark up buried ability outside a full-on fight.” Blue eyes were level as they looked up into his. “I’m enough to do this much, Kurosaki. Let me help the kid.”

“No stabbing,” Ichigo said resolutely. What did he mean, enough? “Do it some other way if you need to.” On Grimmjow’s other side, Yuzu was watching the floating pen with deep interest.

“He wants to stab me for my blood? Will that let me see? Let him do it.”

“Hell no,” Ichigo said, pulling Grimmjow’s bleeding hand away from Yuzu. “He wants some kind of weird blood pact.”

Yuzu wasn’t really an active type. That was always Karin’s thing, with the sport and athleticism. Yuzu was the homemaker, the baker, the one who worried over others before taking anything for herself. She was gentle, nonviolent and kind. It was why Ichigo never saw it coming when she snatched the floating pen out of the air and slammed it into her own hand, right into the meat at the base of her thumb. The blood that sprang up was somehow more red and terrifying than anything Ichigo had ever seen.

“Whatever it is, do it,” Yuzu said, her eyes darting all around Grimmjow’s outline. The hand holding the pen was trembling, but the look she gave Ichigo was nothing but iron resolve. “I don’t want to be left behind anymore.”

“Kid,” Grimmjow said, impressed. “You got guts after all.” Yuzu had no idea what he was saying, simply reaching out with her bleeding hand in invitation. Ichigo watched them both with a horrible sense that he was going to be blamed for anything that went wrong from this intensely unhygienic exchange of bodily fluids. He couldn’t deny Yuzu the chance though. He knew what it was like to be locked out too.

“Of course she’s got guts,” Ichigo said simply, nudging Grimmjow’s injured hand toward her. “She’s a Kurosaki. Go on, give it a try.”

It was hard, watching Grimmjow turn and grab Yuzu’s bleeding hand, settling it palm-up within his larger one. All of Ichigo’s instincts were screaming to protect her, to get the first aid kit, to push Grimmjow away. But this wasn’t about him and what he wanted. Protecting Yuzu from this would only hurt her more, and maybe he trusted Grimmjow with her safety, just a little. He cared enough to try, so Ichigo was going to care enough to sit back and watch. Awkwardly planting his knee on the armrest, settled in behind Grimmjow’s turned shoulder, Ichigo leaned over to watch what he planned to do.

“Tell her not to freak out,” said Grimmjow, leaning forward. Held out from the couch, his own palm was pooling with blood in a shallow wash of red. He didn’t seem to want to use it yet. Dutifully, Ichigo repeated the instruction to Yuzu, who nodded fiercely.

Then Grimmjow dipped forward and dragged his tongue through Yuzu’s bloody palm, taking everything that had run from her wound straight into his mouth. Yuzu only squeaked. It was Ichigo who freaked out. But it was all too late when Grimmjow began to blaze blue from his skin outward; a visible signature of reiatsu flaring out around him. In one smooth movement, he clamped his bleeding hand around hers.

The light from their hands was pure reiryoku, blue-white and almost hot to Ichigo’s senses. It looked like something that should burn, but when Grimmjow pushed it toward Yuzu, engulfed her arm with it all he could see was Yuzu’s hand squeeze right back. There was fear in her face, but she held on like her life depended on it until the light had faded away completely, reiatsu levelling off and vanishing.

A strange, expectant silence descended.

“Did it work?” Ichigo blurted right into it, bracing his hands on Grimmjow’s shoulders to lean forward and see better. “Did you do it? I didn’t feel anything except you.”

“That’d be because I’m about a thousand times stronger than her. But she held up under that pretty well. Her soul didn’t break or anything.”

“Was that—that was a possibility?!” A belated kind of terror iced his blood.Tipping his head all the way back, Grimmjow smiled up at him like a shark.

“Small one. But like you said, the kid’s a Kurosaki. Can’t kill you assholes with a stick.”

“I’m not an asshole,” said Yuzu, rubbing at her eyes. She went rigid a split-second later, curled fists still raised to her eyes. “I heard that. I heard all of that.” Slowly, she lowered her hands. Holding his breath, Ichigo watched on. Beneath his grip, Grimmjow felt very tense.

“Oh, crumbs,” Yuzu breathed, staring straight at Grimmjow’s face. “Blue has blue hair. And blue eyes! A-a-and he looks like a drug dealer!”

“A fucking _what—_ "

“This is the happiest day of my life!” Yuzu cried, throwing herself across Grimmjow’s lap to half-strangle him in a hug, her thin arms shaking with adrenaline. Two seconds later, she started sobbing like the world was ending. “I love you, Blue!”

Grimmjow was holding his arms out from his body, unwelcome alarm written all over him. Yuzu’s wet face was pushed into his blanket-covered shoulder, dripping snot and tears all over. She was crying like someone had died, completely overwrought with how happy she was. Reaching over, Ichigo petted her hair sympathetically, then almost did the same to Grimmjow. If he had fur it looked like it’d all be standing on end.

“You really did it,” Ichigo said wonderingly. “Nobody ever thought…what did you do exactly?”

“Gave her a dose of reiryoku-charged hollow blood.” He shrugged a little. “I dunno, short of being gutted in a fight and bleeding in her mouth it seemed like it’d work.” He spoke casually, like he didn’t have a wailing teenage girl muffling her sobs into his shoulder, her life completely changed. Given Grimmjow’s brusque nature Ichigo was surprised he hadn’t shoved her away yet, but maybe he was used to Yuzu crying on him by then. It was sort of cute.

“Hey, Grimmjow…”

“Yeah?” He had to tilt his head back to look up at Ichigo, frowning curiously. “Gonna tell me I’m too reckless? Dangerous?”

“You did a great job,” Ichigo said, hoping his sincerity made it through. There was an awful bloom of warmth in his chest, and it was threatening to make him do or say something stupid. Grimmjow had just changed Yuzu’s life, and he expected to be slapped in the face for it. “It was gross, don’t get me wrong, but…” Ichigo didn’t know how to end his sentence. Grimmjow was staring at him. He lost all his words. Instead, he gently squeezed the shoulders under his hands, hoping the smile he couldn’t hold down said it for him.

“If you’re gonna cry, you can use my other shoulder,” Grimmjow snorted, but he was a little dusky in the cheeks as he looked away. “Don’t make something of it.”

“Too late,” Ichigo replied, wrapping his arms around Grimmjow’s entire fucking head and mashing it into his chest. He got bitten and cursed at immediately. Laughing was probably the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. Grimmjow really was a sullen alley cat at heart. “How’s it feel to be someone’s hero?”

“Smothering,” came the muffled pissy response. “I’ve only got one arm free here. Cut me some slack or I’ll throw her at you.”

That was exactly the scene Isshin wandered into, commenting on a spike of reiatsu he thought he felt. Grimmjow in a partial headlock, Yuzu still crying on his shoulder, hands turned rust-coloured with drying blood. Ichigo didn’t bother letting go at his approach, even when Isshin’s eyes bugged a little at the blood.

“There’s a story here,” Isshin announced, “and I want to hear it.”

“Grimmjow shook Yuzu’s hand and now she can see spirits.”

“Uh-huh. And the blood?”

“Mostly Grimmjow’s.”

“Do I need to give you all a tetanus shot?”

“Just Yuzu. Grimmjow could use a rabies— _ow!"_ Snatching his arms back, Ichigo scowled at a semi-circular indent in his forearm. “Maybe I need the rabies shot.” The grin Grimmjow gave him showed off the new sharpness of his canines to great effect.

“All right. Everybody bend over, I’ll be right back,” Isshin said firmly. “But first I have to have a small breakdown in the clinic. My daughter in the arms of an arrancar and the arrancar in the arms of my son! What kind of depraved brothel is this?”

“Your house,” Ichigo called to his departing back, knowing he didn’t mean anything much by it. If Isshin ever had any real concerns he was pretty sure Grimmjow would never have managed to set a foot back inside the house. Wasn’t this exactly the kind of thing he’d been angling for? Maybe not the spiritual blood pact thing, but he and Grimmjow getting along again. Turning back to the aforementioned depraved arrancar, gingerly rubbing his multiple bite marks, Ichigo was arrested by a startlingly open gaze.

“That’s one down,” Grimmjow said. “When d’you want to test this body out?”

Ichigo’s mind short-circuited for an instant. Fighting, right. Nothing to do with brothels.

“Better to wait for nightfall. Less chance of anyone passing through the area.” At that, Grimmjow’s expression soured a little. Something about the way he said _one down_ bothered Ichigo. Was he just ticking boxes on their conversation from earlier that morning? Get back in Yuzu’s good books, go a couple of rounds in the hunting grounds together, then disappear? “Are you in some kind of hurry?”

Before Grimmjow could answer Yuzu pushed herself away, grabbing the blanket as she did so. She used the corner of it to dab at her eyes for a moment, giving them both a wobbly smile.

“I’m going to go see Karin at Urahara-san’s place and tell her the news! Maybe she’ll go looking for spirits with me. I hope I meet a handsome ghost like Denny.”

“That was just the cancer hallucinations,” Grimmjow scoffed. “Izzy wasn’t seeing shit.”

Both Yuzu and Ichigo stared at him. Yuzu was the one who recovered first.

“He was real! They were in love!”

“She was better off with George.” Catching Ichigo’s puzzled look, he coughed slightly. “Anyway get out of here, kid. We can talk about how right I am later.”

As Yuzu scrambled away, darting several backward glances as she went, Ichigo was grappling with the singular feeling of being an outsider to a personal joke he knew nothing about. Between Grimmjow and his sister, no less. It didn’t feel great, really. Were they best friends now? If they were, what was he?

Bugged that he was even thinking about stupid stuff like that, Ichigo grabbed the notepad and pen from the couch, checking for any bloodstains as he went. The pen was a cheap old thing so he threw it in the trash. The notepad went back on the fridge. What next? Antiseptic and a band-aid, probably. Yuzu had forgotten all about it before she raced out, but Grimmjow was probably still bleeding. It had been a hell of a puncture he’d given himself. Could hollows even get infections from the living world? Who the hell knew. His head felt full of moths. Returning with antiseptic, a couple of tissues and a band-aid, Ichigo sat on the couch and dragged Grimmjow’s hand into his lap.

“Bit forward of you there, Kurosaki.” There was something wicked in the corner of Grimmjow’s smile. Ichigo rolled his eyes and began running an antiseptic-soaked tissue around the edges of the wound, cleaning up the blood as he went.

“Says the guy who just bit me.” Discarding the first tissue, the second one he fully soaked with liquid and pressed directly onto the wound. Grimmjow didn’t even flinch, even if his nose wrinkled at the astringent scent. “This doesn’t hurt? I know you said your skin had changed.” In his lap, half-curled fingers twitched slightly, brushing his own where he still held the tissue down. Grimmjow’s hands weren’t shaking like they had been the night before.

“Pain’s pain, with or without my hierro. It’s the cold I’m not used to.” Watching closely as Ichigo unwrapped a band-aid and stuck it carefully over the curve of his palm, making sure the bend of his hand wasn’t interfered with, Grimmjow nearly bumped his head into Ichigo’s temple. He snapped back so fast the tissues went flying. “Uh.”

“Did that hurt? Sorry.” Flexing Grimmjow’s hand between his once more for good measure, he deemed his work a success. “I’m no nurse like my sisters, but I do all right.” Capping the bottle of antiseptic and grabbing up the trash, Ichigo stood. Grimmjow didn’t remove his hand like an ordinary person would, instead letting it slowly slide away over Ichigo’s thigh. Like if Ichigo hadn’t moved, Grimmjow would have let it stay there. The thought startled him into silence as he threw away the stuff and washed his hands.

Something halfway between anticipation and awkwardness descended in the room. Even when it was just Grimmjow and himself there, the TV droning the news on low volume in the background, with Grimmjow curiously sniffing his own hand like something wild venturing close to new territory. Still too many animal instincts, Ichigo reminded himself. He’d said they wouldn’t be fading anytime soon, either. With Karin and Yuzu gone and his father panicking in the clinic, it was just going to be the two of them.

All. Day.

What was he supposed to do with Grimmjow until sunset? And why the hell was he so nervous about it?

Maybe he could just call for backup, he thought, thinking of his phone upstairs on his desk. There were a few people who’d be really interested to know Grimmjow was alive and well. But almost as quickly as he thought about it he discarded the idea, annoyed by his own reaction. He wasn’t scared of Grimmjow in the slightest; if anything the opposite was true. But Ichigo hadn’t been prepared for him to be so selfless with Yuzu, or sit so easily in his care, or—hell, even answer his questions. There wasn’t a drop of bloodlust or rage in him at all. Without it, he resembled Blue more than ever, and seemed about as far from the Grimmjow he remembered as a person could get.

“You gonna stare at me from the kitchen all damn day? I’m not even giving you my best angle.”

“Which one’s that?”

“This one.” A propped arm was flipping him off. Out the corner of his eye, Grimmjow scowled. “The hell are you thinking about? You look constipated.”

“Just thinking I need to take a shower,” Ichigo said hastily. It was the immediate wrong thing to say, since the first thoughts that popped to mind were all the times he’d squeezed into the shower with an enormous adjuchas cat, scrubbing it clean while its eyes closed blissfully against the water’s spray. “You used most of the water last night.”

“It was a good shower,” Grimmjow replied unapologetically. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Had better, though.”

Ichigo tried very carefully not to have any reaction to that.

“You’d better not phase through the door this time.”

“And get my new bandage wet? You’re safe, Kurosaki.” Twisting to lean over the armrest, Grimmjow ran his eyes over Ichigo from his socks, to his t-shirt and jeans, to his rumpled hair. In his haste to get up and ready for the day, he was looking a bit too casual. “Wear that orange thing you gave me last night.”

The orange hoodie was still on the end of his bed where Grimmjow had dumped it, since a few hours use weren’t enough to toss it in the laundry. Ichigo had a faint suspicion about the request.

“It hasn’t been washed yet.”

Grimmjow’s eyes glinted. “I know.”

“This is a scent thing, isn’t it?” Ichigo asked flatly. “You want me smelling like you.”

“Yeah, I do.” Levering himself out of the chair in one clean movement, still moving with that sinuous ease despite whatever troubles he had with his new skin, Grimmjow walked over to where Ichigo stood frowning by the kitchen bench. He didn’t stop until his breath was fanning Ichigo’s cheek. Cold fingers wrapped around one of his forearms, right over the tender welt of the bite he’d given him. Ichigo refused to budge backward a single step. “Just figured you wouldn’t put up with the usual shit from me now I’m on two legs instead of four.”

Ichigo lifted his chin to meet Grimmjow’s eyes. Was he supposed to blush or something?

“Which shit? The parts where you liked rubbing yourself all over me? Sniffing my hair? Sleeping on top of me?” When Grimmjow blinked, for an instant his pupils were blown wide with interest. “Or the times when your favourite place to put your face was in my neck?”

The hand on his arm tightened just enough that he could feel the bite throb a little. Ichigo didn’t look down, or away. Whatever this game of chicken was, he wasn’t about to lose. Awkwardness was for strangers and if recent events were any indication Grimmjow knew him pretty damn well.

“Yeah, all of that.” Leaning in slightly, Grimmjow was close enough that Ichigo imagined he could feel reiryoku thrumming beneath his skin. Wickedness was written all over his face. “But you forgot one.”

The forgotten example sprang to mind too late as Grimmjow dipped his head, opened his mouth and ran his warm tongue all the way from the curve beneath his jaw up to the sensitive notch behind his ear. Goosebumps broke out on every conceivable inch of Ichigo’s skin in a reactive rush. A sound stalled in the back of his throat, caught there by his shock. Distantly he was glad of that, since he didn’t know what it would have been. Eyes wide and fixed on the blue hair inches from his nose, he grappled silently for something clever to say.

“You should see yourself.” There was a low thread of tension in the words. Maybe even a little disappointment. “Locked up at every joint, and you say you get that I was Blue and that Blue is me.” Grimmjow pulled back, chin raised. “Barely a hand on you, Kurosaki, and you’re ready to bolt clean out the gates to get away.”

“Fuck off, Grimmjow. I said what I said and I meant it.” With both hands he pushed Grimmjow to arm’s length, but held onto the edges of his jacket, making sure he couldn’t get too far. His neck felt cold. “But now that you’re back in this body it’s kind of a mixed signal. If it’s just leftover adjuchas stuff, I don’t care so much as long as you don’t do it in front of people, but if—”

“There’s nobody here now,” Grimmjow interrupted, pushing forward against Ichigo’s locked elbows. Reaching out, he dug clever thumbs into the bend of his elbow, trying to get them to give. “C’mon, it’s been months and I fell asleep last night before I could get my fix.”

“Fix?” Ichigo repeated, voice strangled, wondering if he heard right.

" _Fix?!_ " Isshin repeated behind Ichigo, having definitely heard right. He had two syringes in his hands and a scandalised look on his face. “That’s it, I’m putting out the guest futon in the living room tonight!” Uncapping both syringes with the tip of his thumbs, he advanced on them until Grimmjow sprang away with a snarl, eyeing the fluid beading on the needles mistrustfully. “Back it up there, randy, or I’m getting the spray bottle. Ichigo, do you still have your virtue?”

“Oh my god,” Ichigo whispered, mostly to himself. “Dad, put the needles down. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s kinda what he thinks,” Grimmjow added from the other side of the room, hand on the pommel of his sword. His eyes switched to Isshin, bright with mischief. “Hey, shinigami, I licked your son—and I’m probably gonna do it again.”

It was actually kind of entertaining to watch Isshin crash tackle somebody who wasn’t him for once, Ichigo thought, bending down to pick up the syringes before they rolled away and gave someone a needlestick injury. One for the biohazard bag in the clinic, definitely. In the wide unoccupied area of the living room, Grimmjow and Isshin were throwing down like idiots, and Grimmjow seemed to be on board with biting ears from the looks of it. Biting anything, mostly—til Isshin wound up and punched him directly in the balls. Right in the newly evolved skin, too, Ichigo winced, watching Grimmjow roll up like an armadillo on his side, almost vibrating with pain.

“Should have told you he fights dirty,” Ichigo said, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. It was likely to get him killed. By Grimmjow’s side, Isshin was petting his head, knowing he couldn’t try to kill him just yet.

“You’re a few hundred years too early,” he said, almost fondly. “But you did well. I hereby give you permission to lick my son.”

“What the fuck, Dad.”

“But the futon is coming out, even if it’s just on your floor.”

Ready to argue that for the sake of argument—was he twelve and needing a chaperone?—Ichigo opened his mouth with at least three different smartass comments ready when the doorbell rang. The pealing sound of someone at the door silenced everyone in the room. Even Grimmjow rolled over onto his other side, cheek down on the polished floor.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Isshin asked. Ichigo shrugged.

“Hello?” called a very familiar voice, high and pleasant. “The door was unlocked! Kurosaki-kun? I’m here with Ishida-kun! We felt hollow reiatsu and came right over! Did Blue come back?”

Ichigo’s stomach shrivelled up somewhere alongside Grimmjow’s balls.

Ishida and Inoue. Uninvited.

This was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit as always to peppertea for the stellar art. she had great fun making that thing as terrible as she could (and it's still pretty awesome)


	11. Chapter 11

With Inoue and Ishida at the front door Ichigo knew he was on the clock. Damage control, he thought rapidly and looked at his father.

“Stall them,” he ordered, already striding toward Grimmjow as he pushed himself upright out of his foetal position. Isshin tugged the cuffs of his white coat back into place and promptly ran for the entry hall.

“Good morning, uninvited youths! Uryuu-kun, have you considered getting contact lenses so you look less like your father? I know a guy. Orihime-chaaan! What’s that smell?”

While Isshin rambled his strange small talk, Ichigo knelt down and reached for Grimmjow’s waist. Perplexed and a little clammy-looking around the face, Grimmjow didn’t even react until Ichigo started tugging the studded belt out of its buckle to remove it.

“Hey!” A incongruously soft hand grabbed his, totally at odds with the ferocious glare it came with. “That’s—”

“A big fucking red flag, remember?” Shaking off the hand squeezing his, Ichigo worked the buckle free and yanked the belt the rest of the way off. Grimmjow’s glare went from angry to confounded. “Under no circumstances are they to find out that you’re Blue, okay? I honestly think the stress would kill them both.”

“Don't see a downside there.”

“Shut up,” Ichigo muttered, looking for a place to stash the belt and coming up empty. Finally he thought _fuck it_  and pushed the belt through the loops in his own jeans, whipping the worn leather into place and pulling his t-shirt down over it. It had been originally his, anyway. Darting Grimmjow a gauging glance to check his reaction, Ichigo was rewarded with narrowed eyes glued to his hips with enough intensity he was surprised his shirt didn’t start to smoke. “Calm down. I’ll give it back when they leave.”

Grimmjow just pushed his shoulders back against the wall and bent his knee up, affecting a look of casual moody boredom in time for Ishida and Inoue to round the corner of the entrance hallway into the living room, leaving Ichigo sort of kneeling awkwardly in front of him like he was making an offering to an idol. Scrambling to his feet, Ichigo turned to face the music.

The music being Ishida’s startled blinking and Inoue’s round-eyed shock, both of them held silently surprised by the sight of Grimmjow apparently alive, well and in Ichigo’s living room. Trying not to feel awkward, Ichigo scratched his cheek and gestured at his new houseguest.

“So uh, it turns out that Grimmjow isn’t dead.”

Inoue took a half-step backward, and then because she had no survival instincts whatsoever, darted forward to stare Grimmjow right in his scowling face. He gave her a lazy eyebrow, saying nothing. When she swayed forward a little, brow knit in concentration, his eyes nostrils flared slightly.

“Well, you don’t look like a zombie, but Nel-chan said for sure you were left behind inside that reiatsu-poisoned place.” Her eyes slid to his unmasked cheek. Grimmjow half-shrugged, seeming distracted. His eyes were scanning Inoue like he was looking for something. To Ichigo’s eyes it was just Inoue; wearing another dress, this one bright blue and belted at the waist. It left her pale shoulders bare but for a couple of thin straps. Leaned forward like she was to stare at Grimmjow, her hair was hanging between them in shining copper tendrils. Ichigo felt his mouth tighten a little.

“As incandescently happy as I am to see yet another hollow in your house, Kurosaki, how the hell did this happen?” Taking off his glasses, Ishida tsked to himself and began cleaning them with the handkerchief in his pocket. Who even had a handkerchief these days? Over his shoulder, Ichigo watched Isshin dramatically tip-toe out of the living room, pointing at the interior clinic door. Escaping the potential carnage. Great. Ichigo gave his back a dirty look all the way up until the door clicked shut.

“He turned up a few weeks ago,” Ichigo explained, confident that he hadn’t told a lie in the slightest. “He’s…recovering, so I’m letting him stay.”

Ishida squinted. His eyes looked strangely small with his glasses off. “Recovering from what?”

“Childbirth, dipshit.” Grimmjow narrowed his eyes. “Mind your damn business.” When Inoue backed right off with a squeak, he uncoiled to his full height and followed her. “The fuck is that smell? Is it your hair? You smell good.”

Ichigo’s head jerked around in surprise. Ishida shoved his glasses back on his face so fast he almost took his own eye out.

“Oh, um, it’s nothing! Really!” Inoue laughed nervously, her eyes darting all around the room. “I thought you were going to be Blue—I don’t know if you know about Blue but there was this amazing big cat here for a while, and I thought when I felt the reiatsu that maybe it had come back.” Her cheeks slowly flooded crimson. With every step forward Grimmjow took, she stepped away. “Maybe I put catnip oil behind my ears? I just had so much catnip left over and I soaked it all in oil for a few weeks to give to Machiko downstairs, she has three cats you know, and I thought…I just wanted to hug the hollow cat again!”

Grimmjow stopped advancing. He blinked once at Inoue, who looked like she wanted to squirm away through the nearest heating duct and never come back. Ishida’s shoulders dropped on a long-suffering sigh. For his part, Ichigo felt a frown knit his brow. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms over the annoyed knot in his stomach.

“Catnip is a herb that some cats like,” Ichigo explained reluctantly to Grimmjow, who was giving him a questioning glance. “Maybe your hollow senses can pick it up.” He couldn’t add that Inoue had been trying to test it on him the day he’d had his evolution forced upon him. There was no need to let that particular cat out of the bag. He preferred his house intact and his friends sound of mind.

“Never heard of it,” Grimmjow declared, leaning forward to inhale the air in the shrinking space between himself and Inoue. “Oy, quit backing away and let me smell it.”

“But it’s on me!” Inoue clapped both hands to her neck, head shaking wildly.

“Yeah, so?” With one blurred step Grimmjow stood behind her, tugging on her wrist to release her neck. “I ain’t gonna bite you, fuck.”

“Stop it!” Inoue was almost wailing in embarrassment as Grimmjow jiggled her. “And why are your hands so soft?! What product are you using?”

“I’m naturally supple. Give it up already.” Finally he managed to lever a couple of fingers under her hand and draw it away, baring the side of her neck. Inoue scrunched her eyes shut, her whole face making a contorted grimace of anticipation. Grimmjow leaned in.

Ichigo had a moment’s notice to grab Ishida’s wrist before he summoned his quincy bow and blew the room to hell, meeting the furious flash of his lenses with a look of his own.

“Calm down. She’d blow him across the room if she was really bothered, and Grimmjow won’t hurt her.” Calm, rational, logical. Ichigo had absolutely no problem with Grimmjow huffing Inoue like she was a pot of fresh glue. Ishida just yanked his wrist free and leveled a disgusted look at the pair.

“It’s not injury I’m concerned about. He’s a deviant, Kurosaki. Case in point.” Ishida stabbed a finger at the scene the two were currently making. “I swear, every time I come here…”

Instead of burying his entire face in the crook of Inoue’s neck like Ichigo had expected he’d do, Grimmjow was carefully picking long strands of hair off her shoulder and brushing them aside with meticulous attention. His nose was lowered to the air just behind her right ear, breathing it in. Ichigo’s stomach lurched again; Grimmjow’s blue eyes were heavy-lidded, almost drugged off the scent of her skin. So much for getting his fix, some nasty corner of his mind muttered, like he even gave a shit about things like that. But it was undeniably true that something about the way they stood made Ichigo’s teeth clench.

Unwinding slowly from her rigid pose, Inoue opened her eyes. When Grimmjow made no move to bother her further, she smoothed down her skirt demurely and tugged her hair completely off that side of her neck.

“I thought you were going to be a lot creepier, but this is very polite,” she told him encouragingly. “You’ve really changed, you know?”

“What’s it taste like?”

“Nope,” Ichigo said loudly, before Inoue could open her mouth. “We are not doing this.” Completely ignoring Ishida’s dry confusion he strode forward and grabbed her wrists, pulling her toward him and away from Grimmjow’s increasingly affectionate hold. Unfortunately he was still with it enough to cross his arms around Inoue’s waist, holding her against him with a rumble. Before all their mortified eyes, Grimmjow squeezed her hips with fingers that flexed like they used to have claws. This time he pushed his nose straight into the curve of her ear.

“Oh my god, he’s high as a kite.” Ishida seemed more fascinated than disgusted this time.

“I had a dream about this once.” Inoue tried angling her face back to look at Grimmjow, but he was too close. Still held in Ichigo’s grip, she tugged his hands happily. “You had robot legs in it though.” Lifting her shoulder slightly to test the weight of Grimmjow’s chin, she clucked quietly. “I think he might go to sleep soon. Catnip makes cats very happy and drooly, so he won’t hurt me. Maybe just don’t yank on me though! If he breaks my hips I’ll have to explain it, and Tsubaki can be such an asshole.”

Apart from there never being a single moment in Ichigo’s life where he’d heard Inoue Orihime swear, had she honestly just told him to leave her in the arms of Grimmjow? Sure, _Ichigo_  knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, since the repercussions would be all kinds of violent and awful, but Inoue’s last knowing contact with Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had been…maybe Hueco Mundo, in the background of that videolink with Urahara? Had they become friendly back then and he’d never known?

Ichigo was still thinking about it when Ishida grabbed him by the shoulder of his t-shirt and started dragging him toward the stairwell around the corner, telling Inoue to try and deposit Grimmjow on the couch somewhere and work her way free.

“If he starts getting grouchy just scratch his scalp,” Ichigo offered as he was yanked around the corner, probably stretching the neck of his t-shirt irreparably. “Ow, Ishida, dammit—”

“Don’t you dare admonish me, Kurosaki,” Ishida hissed, driving him backwards against the wall with enough force that his shoulders stung. “You unmitigated imbecile. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Grimmjow was the adjuchas cat? You honestly let that—that hollow get his tongue on her like that?”

“I didn’t know, okay?” Shoving the hands clenched in his t-shirt off him, pushing when Ishida refused to give, he heard the pitched tear of cotton as his neckline gave way. “He didn’t tell me! I found out after, when—when he came back.” Shoving Ishida again, hating his high and mighty glare and his disdain, Ichigo tugged his shirt back up as best he should and tried to straighten up. “If Grimmjow getting his hands on Inoue is your only complaint here, maybe you should have made a move by now.”

“That’s not up for discussion.”

“Nothing’s up for discussion when it’s your damn life, Ishida.”

“What are you saying? That I’m some sort of hypocrite just because my life isn’t a madhouse of hollows?”

“I’m saying if your life was so damn perfect you wouldn’t be bothered trying to school me on mine!”

Ishida’s eyes widened, the glare off his glasses giving way to shocked dark blue eyes. Mouth moving on an unknown word, he pulled away, glancing around the base of the stairs like he dropped his composure there somewhere. Ichigo worked his shoulders and thought about pushing his anger further, into starting a fight, but the energy had gone right out of him with the look on Ishida’s face.

“Kurosaki I don’t—I don’t like hollows. I think I might just hate them, a little.” Pulling in a quiet breath, Ishida firmed up and lifted his chin. “And I think you’re an idiot. On an almost daily basis I think about you and how much of an idiot you are.”

Ichigo’s face soured. “Man, go to hell.”

“But,” Ishida continued evenly, “you’re also one of the most forthright, resilient and generally kind-hearted people I know, and if I thought something might try to corrupt that I think it’s only natural I should want to kill it. As your friend, even when I hate so many of your decisions in life.” Raising his eyes to the ceiling as though he could glean some meaning from the plaster, Ishida scowled. “Are you in love with that arrancar?”

Ichigo stared.

“N-noooo? No.”

Ishida looked at him.

" _No._ "

“If you say so.”

“Anyway, how’d you even figure out he was Blue?” Ichigo said quickly. There was way too much to unpack there, and Ishida talking about their friendship like that had completely killed the last embers of his irritation. “I had to spot the belt to figure it out. And don’t pull that clever shit on me, I want to know for real.”

Rocking back on his heels slightly, mouth twitching from side to side in thought, Ishida didn’t reply immediately. Finally he crossed his arms over his perfectly ironed white shirt. Were those little quincy cross cufflinks? Just looking at him made Ichigo feel under-dressed in his own house.

“I didn’t, not for certain.” Ishida’s mouth quirked up. “Really, you’re terrible at keeping secrets. But Grimmjow still has a lot of the same mannerisms as the adjuchas, and you seem enamoured of both. I saw that scowl when he touched Inoue-san.”

Ichigo’s face burned. “He’s got personal space boundary issues,” he muttered. “Mostly when it comes to me. I wasn’t expecting—why the hell is she wearing catnip?”

“I don’t know. She thought she could tempt the adjuchas away from you if she wore it. Apparently, her idea worked a little too well.”

“Tell me about it,” Ichigo said, peering around the corner past the kitchen to where Inoue was kneeling on the couch, awkwardly trying to reverse-slither out of Grimmjow’s sleep-lazy hold. He was half-sagging on the couch, his head tilted back against the neckrest. Inoue’s skirt was hiked up around her waist, but she hadn’t noticed yet. Ichigo’s mouth tugged into another frown. Ishida had his condolences if that kind of obliviousness was what he was dealing with. “I think Inoue and Karin wear the same type of underwear.” That got him yanked back around the corner and pressed almost nose to nose with a very pink-cheeked Ishida. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“Because she has no interest in me. I’m not a big ginger moron, for one thing.” The look Ichigo received was pointed, and a little deprecating. “I’ll get over it. Now, shall we inform Inoue-san that her beloved adjuchas and Grimmjow are one and the same, or do you want to lie to her face a little more?”

“Lie,” Ichigo said instantly. “Be honest, Ishida: can you really say she wouldn’t let him lick her in that form as well? She thinks he’s _cute_." The worst part was that it was cute, it was fucking cute, and under any other circumstances Ichigo would be completely on board with studying Grimmjow’s high as hell reactions to things while tripping out on some garden herb. It had the potential to be completely hilarious, but in the current scenario it was terrible. Ishida had to be hating every moment of it.

A pale hand clapped onto his shoulder.

“I feel a strange commiseration with you right now,” Ishida said, almost kindly. “You idiot.”

“You’re the idiot, idiot.”

“Said the idiot.” The hand was retrieved when Ichigo swatted at it. “Tell me one thing though: why was Grimmjow licking Inoue-san’s chest in the first place?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Ichigo said. “He thinks you’re a dick, and he could smell your interest in her that day so he—”

“I’m going to kill him,” Ishida announced, trying to push his sleeves up around his fancy cufflinks. “I’m going to shoot him so full of holes he’ll be more air than arrancar when I’m through.” Pushing Ichigo to the side he started marching back around the corner and past the kitchen area, his silver bracelet glinting with gathering reishi. Ichigo did the only thing he could in his human body and launched himself onto Ishida’s back, pinning his arms down with his thighs.

“We’re not killing Grimmjow,” Ichigo said loudly into Ishida’s ear, over his angry cursing. “Inoue, tell him we’re not killing the accidentally drugged arrancar.” Inoue, who had thankfully fixed her dress by then, looked up guiltily from petting Grimmjow’s rumpled hair and flushed bright red. “Goddamnit.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s got blue hair!”

“Get _off_  me, Kurosaki,” Ishida snarled, trying to shake his way free while still staggering forward into the living room. Ichigo squeezed like he was trying to crush a melon and started yanking Ishida’s dark hair. “Ow! Damn it!” Keeling backwards, Ishida purposely let his legs fold until he landed squarely on Ichigo. Feeling the back of his head crack hard against the floorboards, completely askew in all four limbs, Ichigo took it as his due and carefully touched his head, wincing. Nausea roiled in his stomach, warning of the oncoming vertigo.

“I’m seeing double, but I’ll kill both of you if you open fire in my living room, Ishida.” Inspired, he added, “Grimmjow and Yuzu are best friends, you know. If you don’t want to be boiled up into stew you should probably give up.”

“I don’t know why you’re even protecting him!”

“You were being an asshole that day! Admit it Ishida, you’re a big elitist quincy—”

“—I am _not_ —”

“—but you hate Grimmjow less for being an arrancar and more for making you jealous!” Feeling Ishida scramble his way up, straightening his glasses the entire way, Ichigo wondered if he needed to brace for a punch as he caught sight of Ishida’s furious gaze, his fist hauled back.

“Get the fuck off him.”

Ichigo had an instant to register Ishida’s alarmed face before it vanished, along with the weight pinning his legs.

" _Santen Kesshun!_ " A flare of gold and a vicious thud. “Oh, I’m sorry Ishida-kun! You’d have damaged the wall otherwise.”

“It’s all right, my spine didn’t fracture,” a weak voice replied. Ichigo blinked up from his prone position on the floor as a sagging mop of blue hair made its way into his vision. Bracing himself on his forearms, wavering slightly, Grimmjow squinted down at him from approximately three millimetres away.

“Are you dead?” Warm breath was puffing along Ichigo’s cheek, humid and familiar. He blinked dumbly.

“No.”

“Good.” Rolling to the side in a puddle-like slide of limbs, Grimmjow hit the floor beside him. “Kurosaki, I am fucked up. Feels like the world turned inside out an’ I’m actually happy or somethin’.”

“You’re on drugs.”

“Makes sense.” Grimmjow’s head rolled until he could see Ichigo again. “Threw that quincy into the sun, I think.”

“He just hit Inoue’s shield.”

“Fuck.”

“Thanks, though.” Ichigo smiled at the startled blink Grimmjow gave him. His eyes were huge warm pools of black, ringed with a thin line of bright blue. Catnip, huh, he thought fondly. “Didn’t think you could move that fast.”

“Nobody gets to punch you except me.” For all the tired yawning that split the statement in two, Grimmjow sounded completely sure of his words. Ichigo stopped prodding at the back of his own head.

“Back at you.” The words earned him the rap of lazy knuckles against his chest, soft and sleepy.

“I don’t think I can get up from here.”

“Me either.”

That was how they all ended up being dragged into the one broad space on the floor by Inoue, who huffed and puffed and hauled each of them by their armpits until she could line them up side by side; Grimmjow on Ichigo’s right and Ishida on his left. The golden veil that descended over each of them was as familiar and welcome as an old friend’s embrace, like the sight of Inoue’s splayed hands on the outside of the barrier, two pale stars undoing their stupidity for the hundredth time.

“Ishida-kun, you really need to control your urges,” Inoue said seriously from outside the barrier. Ichigo turned his sore head just in time to see Ishida go rigid. “You can’t fight anyone inside Kurosaki-kun’s house, it’s bad manners.”

Grimmjow made a low sound that bordered on a laugh. He rolled over like some kind of lanky slug until he could shove his chin down on Ichigo’s chest and grin at Ishida. From Ichigo’s angle, it was a look of pure evil.

“Hear that, quincy? Control yourself; you’re upsetting the pretty girl.”

Ishida’s answering glare was pure ice.

“You think I’m pretty?” Inoue asked.

“You think she’s pretty?” Ichigo blurted. All eyes switched to him in an instant and Ichigo avoided all of them with the stubborn mortification of the eternally embarrassed. Pushing Grimmjow over onto his back again, he rubbed his chest where the sharp knife of his jaw had dug into him and sat up. “I mean, of course you do. She is.” He tried so damn hard not to shuffle awkwardly. “Can you release the healing? My head feels fine now.”

Inoue was almost bent double by then, trying to get a good look at his face through the golden light of her power. She looked a little rueful as she allowed her power to fade.

“Eighteen months ago those words would have had me walking on air,” she laughed, reaching down to help Grimmjow up, of all people. He still looked a little doped out, and had to be because he reached out and let Inoue almost give herself a hernia trying to haul him upright. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at him. “It’s so funny how things change when the world’s not ending, isn’t it?”

Completely ignoring the sparkling warmth on her face and her happy smile, Grimmjow just tried to zero in on her neck again, because learning your lesson the first time was for idiots. Ichigo kicked his legs out from under him with more force than was strictly necessary, turning away from the crash of his landing to scowl at Ishida, who looked like he’d just discovered that white jeans weren’t in fashion after all.

“You’re welcome.” Ichigo absolutely didn’t sound sour. When Ishida just continued to stare at Inoue, Ichigo sighed. Grimacing as Grimmjow almost crushed his thigh in his grip trying to sit up again, he caught Inoue’s eyes. “Can you take Ishida out on an ice cream date and pay a lot of attention to him? He’s starting to fixate on me and I’ve got enough drama in my life.”

It had kind of been a given that having the pair of them visit while Grimmjow was in the house would be a total bust, but it had taken the kind of confusing turn that Ichigo couldn’t quite decipher in himself just yet. Fucking catnip. If Grimmjow had an ounce of self-control none of that would have been a problem. Ichigo did quietly admit to himself that he knew from his adjuchas days that Grimmjow had some serious hedonist tendencies, given his every ready reaction whenever Ichigo had touched him. Why had he thought that was only a personal reaction to him? How stupid. When Grimmjow’s hand braced on his shoulder as he stood up, Ichigo jerkily shrugged it off before he could restrain himself. He ignored the eyes that drilled down into the top of his head.

“I have wanted to try the new wasabi ice cream with a scoop of coconut and red bean sauce,” Inoue said thoughtfully. “Ishida-kun, do you want to share a sundae with me?” When he just looked at her like she’d sprouted horns, she blushed. Hesitating, she took an embarrassed step back. “Actually, you probably don’t, you’re so amazing and fancy these days and I always pick the flavours that turn people green—”

“I’d love to eat your sundae,” Ishida said rapidly. He nimbly hopped to his feet and cleared his throat. “I’ll eat anything you want to feed me.”

“Really? I—I’ve got so many ideas for things but nobody ever…” Smiling with such radiance even Ichigo’s prickly irritation faded a little, Inoue grabbed Ishida’s hands in both of hers and squeezed. “Please let me cook for you!”

“I would sincerely like nothing more,” said Ishida, like he’d just seen the face of god and wanted to cut a piece off for a souvenir. Morons, Ichigo thought with reluctant approval. At least it’d get Ishida off his back for a while.

“I’m not high enough for this,” Grimmjow grunted, slouching away toward the couch to sprawl himself across it like some kind of relaxed spider. He landed on enough of an angle that his frowning blue gaze could still meet Ichigo’s even after he stood up. His hand was flexing strangely where it dangled off the edge of the couch.

Standing awkwardly somewhere between Inoue and Ishida staring delightedly into each others’ eyes and Grimmjow giving him moody catnip looks, Ichigo wondered if he couldn’t just wander away upstairs and forget the last hour had happened entirely. The odds didn’t look good, especially knowing Isshin probably had his ear to the clinic door and was listening to everything unfolding. Belatedly, Ichigo wished Chad was there. He had a solemn gravity that probably could have grounded him. Instead he was pissed off and unhappy while Ishida pre-planned his damn honeymoon.

“Good luck with everything,” Inoue whispered to Ichigo as they arranged to leave, reaching into the deep pocket of her dress skirt and pulling out a small amber bottle with an eyedropper screw cap. Hiking up his t-shirt without ceremony, she tugged his jeans pocket out a little and deposited the bottle inside it. “You’ll need this more than Machiko will—” She broke off as her eyes landed on the worn studded belt around Ichigo’s waist, widening with realisation.

Inoue never really advertised how clever she was, often hiding behind the laughing awkwardness of a good-natured friend, but the flash of recognition that lit her up like a festival firework couldn’t be mistaken. She also smothered it almost just as fast, dousing her own reaction. But the look she met Ichigo’s eyes with was pure scandalised laughter.

“Aren’t you mad?” Ichigo whispered, pitching his voice low so Ishida didn’t hear.

“I knew I’d seen those eyes before!” Inoue whispered back, her shoulders shaking with repressed giggles. Ichigo grabbed them on reflex to still her movement, and she didn’t blush at all. “I’m sorry I caused such trouble for you here. I just wanted—well, I guess I got my wish! I’m just glad I didn’t put the catnip on my inner thighs like the website said if I wanted a cat to get in my lap.”

Ichigo stared. Inoue stared back. On impulse, he crushed her in a quick, grateful hug and immediately pulled away to straighten his t-shirt. Over her shoulder, Ishida was tapping his chin and darting looks at Grimmjow, who seemed to be tuning them all out.

“All right, get out of here,” Ichigo finally said, halfway between laughing and the adrenaline of a near-miss. “Go eat wasabi ice cream. Send me a photo of it.”

“Thank you for letting us visit, Kurosaki-kun. Sorry for the trouble,” Inoue said, giving a shallow bow, her hands clasped. She was still smiling though, which completely undermined everything. Turning on her heel, hands reflexively smoothing down her dress and straightening her belt, she all but danced out into the hallway. Probably excited for the ice cream, Ichigo thought. Turning to receive Ishida’s goodbyes, he stilled at the sight of Ishida solemnly taking his glasses off and folding them up to slide into his breast pocket. So he was going to get punched after all, huh.

Well, maybe he had it coming, just a little. He had hugged Inoue after hearing her talk about how happy she’d be a few years back to know he thought she was pretty. And she was, there was no mistaking it, but he just didn’t have the kinds of feelings she stirred up in Ishida. Straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin, Ichigo waited for the jealous not-yet-boyfriend routine, figuring it was his due like everything else.

His first clue was the cool hands that clasped either side of his jaw, strangely calloused from years of archery.

“I’ll keep you informed on our progress,” Ishida said stiffly, blinking myopically at him. “Thanks, Kurosaki.”

“Uh, forget it.”

His second clue was the brief slide of a thumb over his lower lip. The third was—

Ichigo’s eyes widened as Ishida’s mouth—his warm wet mouth—pressed against his in a long, lingering sort of kiss that did absolutely nothing for him, but the shock and vague urge not to upset him further left Ichigo just sort of standing there, kissing his friend who might actually be a relative because had they ever sorted that quincy bloodline out? Had they?

Eventually Ishida pulled away, lips slightly shining under the living room light. Stepping back, he put his glasses on again without another word and stared at Ichigo from behind them.

“You’re welcome,” Ishida muttered, an echo of the words spoken to him only ten minutes ago.

“Why’d you have to take off your glasses?” Ichigo asked suspiciously, rubbing his mouth.

“That’s your only question?” Ishida whispered in frustration, already leaving. “Take a look around, you blind idiot.”

Ichigo stood in confusion long enough to hear Ishida grumble on his way out, the snap of the door closing behind him leaving the entire house in a strangely expectant silence. Was that another Inoue thing, or something else? There was no way Ishida ever had a thing for him, that’d just be too weird even for his crazy life.

Turning away from the entry hall with every intention to sit on the couch and mentally dissect everything that had just gone on, Ichigo rounded on his heel and stopped like he’d just been bound with the world’s worst kidou technique.

Grimmjow was sitting straight up on the couch, the effects of the drug burning off his skin with the reiryoku steaming around in him a faint blue light. His eyes were fixed and harder than stone. The hand that had been gently flexing was clenched a tight fist. Ichigo blinked and tried to think of any of a hundred things that might have pissed him off from the entire visit. Probably he’d just sobered up and realised he’d acted like an ass. Not that Ichigo cared.

“There’s still like six hours til the sun goes down.” Was he just trying to fill the silence? No. “What do you want to do until then?”

Grimmjow just stared at Ichigo like he’d never seen him before, furious and tense. A muscle in his jaw was jumping with the pressure of what had to be some seriously clenched teeth.

“Grimmjow? C’mon, they’re gone now—”

“I’m goin’ out. Stinks in here.” Lurching to his feet so fast he stumbled a little, Ichigo had his hands up to steady Grimmjow but winced as they were backhanded away, knuckles slamming painfully against his own. “Why don’t you invite that big bastard over and make it three for three? Fuck.”

“What?” Ichigo frowned. “You know they’re my friends. You know they’re weird. There’s no need to get all—whatever about it.”

“Whatever,” Grimmjow repeated, jamming his hands deep in pockets and hunching his shoulders in such a defensive movement it almost gave Ichigo whiplash. Twenty minutes ago he’d been— “Seeya ‘round, Kurosaki.”

It probably didn’t mean anything. In fact, Ichigo was almost certain it didn’t mean anything, the way he didn’t say when he was coming back. He wasn’t owed a curfew time or anything. But sundown was when they’d planned to go out, wasn’t it? If he went out, he’d be back by then. No need to act like some kind of idiot. Still, Ichigo watched Grimmjow turn in the same direction his friends had just left in, approaching the entry hall looking like a thundercloud ought to be boiling above his head.

Ichigo caught his wrist as he passed, squeezing harder than he meant to. But he couldn’t let go.

Grimmjow just yanked himself free in one cold twist of his hand.

Wide-eyed and wordless, Ichigo watched him stalk into the entry hallway and disappear around the corner. There were too many words crowding his tongue, all of them trying to form sentences that might ask if Grimmjow was coming back, or if he was just done with them. Yuzu was happy, and Ichigo—maybe he looked happy too, with his friends and his father and his life. Grimmjow kept referring to a debt, didn’t he?

Two down.

_You're welcome._

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in Ichigo’s ears, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d just done wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

Ichigo waited and fidgeted in the living room for over two hours for Grimmjow in the hope he might get bored and come back, but he didn’t.

The usual vicious cycle of thoughts kept turning over in his mind. Maybe he’d gone back to Hueco Mundo. Maybe he was just tired of the house. Maybe he didn’t want to be around Ichigo for a while. Maybe the shine had worn off.

Maybe he’d finally decided on some place he wanted to be.

Ichigo was moping on the staircase and picking the edge of his thumbnail when a light pitter-patter of soft feet sounded behind him. It was the only warning he got before a small felt and stuffing body squirrel-jumped onto the back of his head.

“Finally,” Kon said, yanking on one ear and a chunk of hair simultaneously. “You’re too popular, Ichigo! I miss the days when you were just a sulking loser in your room and only had me for company. I didn’t have to hide at Urahara’s so much back then.”

“That’s where you’ve been? I thought you were just laying low in Yuzu’s room.” Reaching up with one hand, Ichigo patted around for a proper grip on Kon’s body. Instead of the fuzzy lion body he expected, there seemed to be some assortment of straps involved. He grabbed one and pulled Kon down where he could see him. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“What I’m wearing is the price I had to pay to have Shihouin Yoruichi touch me on purpose,” Kon said, like that explained why he was wearing a series of criss-crossing black leather straps and steel rings that seemed to form some kind of fetish jumpsuit shape. “It’s still better than the frilly dresses Yuzu keeps putting me in. The girl has no imagination.”

It was probably better not to ask, really. Ichigo deposited Kon on his bent knees, not bothering to lean back when shiny button eyes stared into his like the secrets of the universe were locked up inside his head. It was kind of nice to see Kon, anyway, and a distraction was a distraction.

“They’re talking about you, you know,” Kon said finally, affecting a pose of casual indifference as he reclined on Ichigo’s lap. It looked like some kind of horrible Penthouse spread for deviants. “Down at the shop. Karin kept them all up to date on the saga, and I think Yuzu just blew their minds about an hour ago. I ran here right after.”

“Why?”

Kon scowled, his plush cheeks crumpling with the motion. “Because I’m sick of getting second-hand information from teenage girls. I had to come see this soap opera train-wreck for real.”

Ichigo scowled. Of course his life was that kind of entertainment to people living across town in a damn candy store. He was going to kill Karin when he saw her next.

“Well, you’re too late. I made Grimmjow mad and he took off.”

“He’ll be back,” said Kon dismissively, waving an arm. “I don’t know much about him but I never met anyone who could stay pissed at you for long. Even Aizen came back in to bat for you, and you once turned him into a tent peg.”

“Urahara did that, not me,” Ichigo argued. “Besides, Aizen just wanted to dick with Yhwach’s plans for trying to upstage him. Grimmjow was already trying to leave this morning when we woke up—”

“In the same bed. You woke up in the same bed, snuggled safely in each other’s arms, yeah yeah yeah. I heard the story. It’s pretty gay, Ichigo.”

“Said the stuffed lion wearing bondage gear, half-laying on my crotch.”

“Don’t kink-shame me.” He did shift back on Ichigo’s lap a little though, staring dubiously at his fly. Ichigo just prodded Kon in the stomach until he burbled out an accidental dolphin-like laugh. “Fuck off, would you? I’m trying to give you some good life lessons here.” Pushing his hand away with blunt furry paws, Kon cleared his throat and sat up with a level of composure that shouldn’t really be possible while he looked like that.

“I don’t need life advice,” Ichigo muttered, picking at the edge of his thumb again. “You’re right, he’ll probably be back. But that’s not the problem. Ishida was acting weird and kissed me, which I guess pissed Grimmjow off completely since I told him to back right off with the licking stuff and he’s kind of territorial so it looks—”

“Shut up, shut up right now, Ichigo!” Kon yelled, bouncing on his thighs energetically. If his black button eyes had the capacity to get wider they’d have been taking up half his face by then. Alarmed, Ichigo’s teeth clicked shut. “Start from the beginning. Everything that happened after Yuzu left. Give me the sweaty, sordid tale in as much detail as you can.”

“You’re not going to like it,” Ichigo warned. Kon stacked his paws behind his head.

“You’re right; I’m going to _revel in it."_

Relaying the morning’s events sounded ten times weirder and dirtier than it had been in person, but despite selfishly wanting to laugh at his misfortune Kon actually could sometimes see things that Ichigo had missed while caught up in his own head. Still, it didn’t really help much when he had to tell a mod-soul trapped in the body of a lion that an arrancar had both licked Inoue’s breasts but also hugged and nuzzled her neck—and that she’d happily allowed it. Acid boiled up in Ichigo’s gut again just thinking about it, and it must have shown on his face because Kon’s expression sharpened up. Once his own tantrum and screeching had ended, anyway. The rest of the tale was history.

By the time he finished Kon was flat on his back on Ichigo’s lap, mopping his own brow like he was overcome.

“You had a clear chance for an orgy and you missed it. I’ve never been so ashamed of you in my life.”

“Kon!”

“All right, all right. I see your problem, but why the hell can’t you?” Waving his arms dramatically, Kon looked like he was performing a one-lion theatrical suite. “I’m not Doctor-fucking-Phil and even I can see what’s going on here. He’s jealous of Ishida. You’re jealous of Orihime-chan. Why might that be?”

Ichigo looked away. “It’s not like that.” He refused to watch the silent conniption of frustration Kon seemed to be having on his lap. “Grimmjow even said it, his instincts are fried at the moment and its making him do weird stuff he never used to before he regressed. Whatever Karin and Yuzu are thinking, it didn’t happen. I just didn’t want to make him sleep on the floor.”

Kon almost clawed his own face off in wordless exasperation. He wriggled around on the platform of Ichigo’s legs, kicking and punching like he was having an actual tantrum like a two year old. Sighing, Ichigo just waited it out. Kon was given to drama at the best of times, and they hadn’t really seen each other in a while. Maybe he was overdue for that kind of spectacle.

“I say this with complete heartfelt love, Kurosaki Ichigo: you are the dumbest person I have ever met, and I once saw Jinta eat an entire decorative soap because Ururu told him not to touch her new cake.” Leaping up to his shoulder, Kon yanked on his ear until he could fit his fuzzy mouth right up against it. “Forget about Grimmjow’s transparently convenient instincts for five seconds, dumbass, and tell me why _you’re_ jealous!”

Ichigo went rigid. Why he was—? He wasn’t jealous, really. Or he hadn’t been. Had he? It wasn’t a frequent experience for him: that dark, digging feeling in his chest as he watched someone else get things he couldn’t have. That kind of stuff just usually didn’t bother him. Usually he was glad for people and moved on with his own life. But seeing Grimmjow and Inoue had left him feeling jarred and uncertain, where just the memory of it hardened his mouth and made him feel awful. Because he wanted Grimmjow to touch him like that? Because Grimmjow had given him that disappointed look earlier? Because he’d followed the scent of some herb all the way up to Inoue’s neck, when before the only place he’d done that was—

Folding his arms across his stomach, Ichigo ducked his head and turned his face away.

“I was used to him being just mine.”

Trying to ignore the still silence of Kon as he froze and stared up at him, Ichigo scowled away the flutter of uncertainty his words stirred up. It was the truest thing he’d said in months, probably. Longer, because the admission felt like it had torn away roots with it, long things that ripped free from deep inside him, trailing secrets and hidden feelings after them like soil. But it healed something to say it; to say the things he’d felt since the moment he looked around Soul Society with eagerness, hoping to see Grimmjow’s artfully wind-blown hair amidst the shinigami trying to tell him what a hero he was. Since the moment he’d been told Grimmjow was dead, and all his grand ideas of being lifelong rivals and maybe friends had just been boiled away to nothing, like poison evaporating in a jar.

“I always thought of him as mine, I guess,” Ichigo said unprompted, giving his own words strength as he thought about it. His eyes stung and he didn’t know why. “He zeroed in on me from the first time we met. He could have killed me, more than once, but it just never worked out like that. Not until I was strong enough to face him in a real battle. I’d never seen anyone so happy to see me in prime form—in my _hollow_ form, mask on and my eyes black as hell. Visored. He loved it.” Grabbing Kon as he tried to scramble up into his lap again, Ichigo seated him carefully back across his legs. Strangely silent, Kon just watched with solemn eyes. “Whatever he wanted from me after that, I wanted to be it. Enemies, rivals, friends—or anything else.” He swallowed. “Then look how messed up it got, because he was Blue and I didn’t know. Nobody knew. I guess I just…”

“Loved him twice?” Kon said, his head tilted in mystified wonder. “Ichigo.”

Squeezing Kon’s soft stuffed body in his hands, Ichigo let his head sink with his shoulders. “I don’t know, Kon.”

As his hands slipped away and he felt Kon stand up in his lap, Ichigo didn’t even think to move when blunt stuffed paws scrubbed at his face in a companionable sort of way. Kon wasn’t really physically affectionate, since he didn’t think his lion body was built for giving or receiving it beyond the occasional rib-cracking hug from Yuzu. Because of that, the attempt really did mean something coming from him. His mouth kicking up in a half-smile, Ichigo let him rub away at his face and temples for a while before straightening up, squeezing his small body companionably, leather straps and all.

“Good talk.”

“I don’t really think it was,” Kon said plainly, his face smooshed up against Ichigo’s. “But if I had to give you any kind of advice? Speak his language. You’re both obviously screwed to hell and back when it comes to communicating, so tell him all that in a way he’ll understand.”

Ichigo shoved him away. “Don’t be stupid. Grimmjow doesn’t want that from me.”

“Well, he sure didn’t want you kissing Ishida Uryuu, seamstress nerd extraordinaire. Maybe he was used to you being just his, too. So figure out some way to show him you are,” Kon said seriously, paws on his hips. He shrugged. “Or just shove your hand down his pants. That one’s hard to misunderstand.”

Snorting at Kon’s bluntness, Ichigo missed his chance to get one last swipe in before Kon leapt away, announcing with glee that he was going back to the shop to deliver the news to everyone. The joke was on Kon though: nobody would believe anything he said, given he was a pervert and enjoyed embellishing on all his favourite stories. Nobody would ever believe that catnip had an effect on Grimmjow, or that Ishida had managed to push the mother of all arrancar buttons. Belatedly, Ichigo hoped Kon didn’t tell anyone about his discussion of Grimmjow’s place in his life. That would be mortifying, and he wasn’t really in a financial position to leave the country and never come back.

Getting to his feet, shaking the stiffness out of his legs, Ichigo loitered uncertainly and tried to think of what he should do next. Go out and look for Grimmjow? He was probably the last person he’d want to see, especially if he was still pissed off. Hearing the distant rattle of his bedroom window snapping shut, knowing it meant Kon had made his brilliant escape gave Ichigo an idea.

 _Speak his language_ _,_ Kon’s voice echoed in the back of his head. It even had the proper dramatic spookiness to it. Fucking Kon. Ichigo darted back into the living area and began opening all the windows. Fresh, crisp late autumn air blew in, just barely tinged with the ice that winter would soon bring. It stole all the heat in the room in under thirty seconds but Ichigo left them all open, blinds drawn up and curtains shoved all the way back. Whether it was Ishida, catnip or Ichigo himself, any scents in the room would be aired out within minutes. While the windows did their work, Ichigo shivered and rubbed the back of his head. Inoue had healed it up completely, but he could still kind of feel the echo of the impact. Grimmjow really had a thing about him being attacked, didn’t he? The snake hollow had just been the first. Not that Ishida would have done much damage either, but maybe that wasn’t the point.

Maybe he’d been missing the point a lot of the time.

Eventually giving into the cold, Ichigo shut the windows again and turned the thermostat back up. That was about as aired out as it was going to get. The next order of business was to run upstairs and blast the shower until the bathroom filled up with steam in preparation for the most thorough, soapy, scalding hot shower of his life. He was going to be clean, damn it, even if it took the first layer of skin off his entire body. Brushing his teeth aggressively beforehand seemed to feel like he was on the right track. Washing his hair twice and soaping himself up until he wore a thick coating of white foam from his forehead to his toes, he ducked under the hot spray to let it wash everything away, circling its way around the drain in rivulets of slippery bubbles. Ichigo didn’t think he’d ever been so clean in his entire life. Grimmjow had better fucking appreciate his efforts. Assuming he came back, at least.

Pink and panting from the temperature change, Ichigo pulled on some new jeans and a black t-shirt, one with a v-neck that was loose-fitting and comfortable. The belt went back around his waist for lack of any ideas of what to do with it. Finally he turned to the end of his bed, where a familiar puddle of orange fabric was crumpled warmly against the duvet. Grabbing it up, Ichigo raised the soft material to his nose, looking around like somebody might see him, and breathed in deeply. It just smelled like faint laundry soap and fabric softener to him, no matter how hard he inhaled. Sure there was something, some kind of body-smell that he couldn’t identify that said a person other than him had worn the garment, but…how would wearing it make any difference? Pushing his arms into it slowly, Ichigo tugged it close over his shoulders and didn’t bother to zip it shut. The statement said it all, right?

Sitting on the end of his bed, Ichigo pulled out his phone and played Stack Jump for a while until his blood cooled down, leaving his sweat to only dampen his skin without fully breaking. After half an hour, while in the process of falling off the tallest tower he’d ever made in the game he felt the familiar blue flicker of wild reiryoku enter the house downstairs. Suddenly he really felt a deep connection with his little jumping Frankenstein character. His whole idea was stupid. Grimmjow nursed slights and held grudges like it was a damn Olympic sport and he was after the gold. Maybe it’d be better to just dump the bottle of catnip oil on his head and baste himself like a damn turkey.

Then again, it had indirectly caused the entire mess. Keeping it stuffed in his bottom drawer behind his tissues was the best place for it. Tense and hyper-aware of any sounds coming up the stairs, Ichigo waited expectantly for Grimmjow to come looking for him.

Minutes ticked by. His reiryoku was still in the house. He had to know Ichigo was upstairs, right?

Right?

“Oh, hell with this,” Ichigo muttered after fifteen minutes had been and gone, tossing his phone on the bed and shooting to his feet, indignant and sick of the bullshit. If Grimmjow wanted to sulk and ignore him, he’d have to put up with a certain level of household interaction and like hell he was being bullied out of the living room just because a pissed off arrancar wanted to glare at him instead of talk it out. “I’m never taking Kon’s advice again.”

Stomping downstairs, pissed off that he even cared, Ichigo rounded the corner and walked past the kitchen to spy Grimmjow sitting on the damn couch like it was no big deal, shoved all the way up one end and away from where Ichigo liked to sit, reading his borrowed copy of Old Yeller. That son of a bitch. He hadn’t even finished that yet.

Looking up as Ichigo walked around the edge of the couch and into his field of vision, Grimmjow scanned him from face to hoodie to jeans and went right back to his book. His mouth was pulled into a pissed-off frown. So it was the silent treatment? He hadn’t even done anything wrong!

“This is bullshit,” Ichigo muttered, and started aggressively unbuckling his belt. Grimmjow’s head shot back up, his eyes widening as Ichigo worked the strap free and grabbed the buckle, tugging it through each of the loops in his jeans until the entire thing slid loose. “Here, you left before I could give it back.” He held the studded belt out and scowled at the wall behind Grimmjow’s head.

The silence was strange, but Ichigo didn’t dare look at his face to see his expression.

“I took my sword-belts off with my boots at the door,” Grimmjow said flatly. “Just throw it with the others.”

Throw it with the—?! Gritting his teeth so hard he threatened to crack something, Ichigo felt his blood pressure skyrocket instantly. He clenched his hand around the studded belt so tightly he knew it was going to leave divots in his palm. Like fuck he was doing that. Even if it was just to piss Grimmjow off, like _fuck_ he was doing that. Storming up to him, kicking his feet apart until he could stand between Grimmjow’s spread knees, Ichigo straightened the belt between his fists so sharply the leather cracked like a whip. He had no idea what his face looked like, but the blue eyes that were glued to it seemed a little stunned. Even the anger had drained away.

Well, whatever. Bending down, Ichigo grabbed Grimmjow’s unbelted hips and dragged him forward from the couch just far enough that he could swing the strap around them, and leaned almost double to start working the buckle through to the notch that looked like it had been used the most. Grimmjow wore it loose, almost to the point of slipping off his hips if he remembered correctly, and that’s just how he was going to—

Hair touched Ichigo’s temple, blue and softer than it had any right to be. The faint brush of a warm cheek grazing his own followed it, but it was just Grimmjow leaning forward to look down at his handiwork.

“You’re doin’ that backwards. Buckle points the other way.”

He was right. Cursing to himself, Ichigo switched the belt around unthinkingly. By the time it crossed his mind that Grimmjow could do up his own damn belt he was doing it anyway, and he’d given himself the task to begin with after all. Might as well do the job properly, he thought, sliding the prong through what he guessed was the correct notch. All the while, Grimmjow’s cheek hovered distractingly close to his own. Yet again, something about the way he just let Ichigo do as he pleased fluttered in the back of his stomach.

“Smell kinda nice, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said grudgingly, testing the tilt of the belt. Ichigo brushed his hands away when he turned it to the wrong side, trying not to hyper-focus on the way warm breath brushed his skin when he spoke. Tilting the belt back in the direction that suited best, Ichigo replied without retreating from his close proximity.

“Soap. I had a shower.” Each word spoken caused the corner of his mouth to almost touch the skin so close to his.

“It’s good soap. Smells a bit like me.” A hand lifted to tug lightly, knowingly, on the zipper-toothed edge of his hoodie.

“And not like Ishida,” Ichigo said, testing the water.

The hand vanished so fast it may as well have been a hallucination. A heartbeat later Grimmjow was hunched back in the corner of the couch, scowling back into the spine of the book like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He held it strangely, with a two-handed grip that peeled it open, held up from his lap like he was trying to read a map instead of a paperback novel. The abrupt withdrawal could have given Ichigo whiplash if it wasn’t exactly what he’d expected would happen.

 _Jealous_ _,_ Kon’s voice echoed.

 _Territorial_ _,_ Ichigo wanted to say right back. A territorial, bad-tempered arrancar who didn’t seem to mind being physically handled, if the belt thing had been any indication. Grimmjow could sometimes be easily shocked, but it didn’t usually freeze him up so long he couldn’t retaliate if he wanted to. Pulling back from his now-bristling but belted target, Ichigo masked his mild irritation and tried to push down the impulsive urge to try touching him again, just to see what he’d do.

“Where did you go before?” Ichigo asked instead, sitting down in the middle of the couch a respectable distance away. His cheek prickled with remembered sensation, but he didn’t scratch it.

“Nowhere. Let me read my dog book.” In the corner of his eye he saw Grimmjow slant him a brooding look that flickered over his clothes, his face and then away again. “You look like shit. Go take a nap or something.”

 _Get lost_ _,_ was all Ichigo heard, feeling something turn cold and crawl in on itself inside him. But being the kind of person he was, it felt like second nature to want to be the biggest asshole about it as he could. Grimmjow wanted him to take a nap, did he?

“I was just thinking of doing that,” Ichigo replied, stretching his arms out until his muscles trembled, still shower-relaxed and smooth beneath his skin. Grimmjow snatched his eyes away but something in his jaw twitched. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Whatever.” The reply was muttered into the book.

“Good,” Ichigo replied shortly, swinging his legs up onto the free end of the couch. He thumped his head down onto Grimmjow’s thigh with more force than anybody needed and rolled onto his side, facing the muted flicker of the television as it rolled through some random midday movie. Shoving his hands into his sleeves, scowling out at nothing, he purposefully ignored the way the leg under his head turned rock hard with tension.

“Do I look like a fuckin’ pillow?”

“Do I look like I care?” Ichigo said loudly, his eyes slammed shut. “It was your idea, and you’re not going anywhere.”

The indignant silence that followed that should have been satisfying, but really all it did was make his chest squeeze in the horrible way that said he was taking things way more personally than he ever meant to. So Ichigo kept his eyes clamped shut, mashed his cheek into the muscle of Grimmjow’s warm thigh and pretended he didn’t give a damn about anything. Worst case scenario was Isshin came into the house to make himself a sandwich and saw them, but it was just as likely he’d ignore everything with the tunnel-vision of a parent in denial.

Minutes passed, Ichigo waited, and slowly the leg beneath his head relaxed back into a pliant length he could discreetly scratch his cheek against. Keeping his arms tight across his middle in an angry housewife fold, knowing he was shitty about something he could clear up if he just, you know, opened his damn mouth, Ichigo frowned blindly and thought about soothing, sleep-related things.

Fluffy sheep. soft pillow. Clean sheets. Warm bed. Calm breath. Quiet darkness. Safety.

The first brush of knuckles against the back of his head felt like an accident. They knocked lightly against the curve of his skull into his neck and were gone almost as quickly, the way strangers might accidentally touch on the train. Nothing to open his eyes for. Maybe it had even been just the edge of the book.

The second was most definitely the slide of a thumb over his newly washed and dried hair, which was overlong at the moment and falling in his eyes a little. Yuzu hadn’t yet complained to him that he needed to let her cut it, so he’d just aimlessly let it go. Ichigo didn’t think he’d had a haircut since before Blue came into his life, and that was…hell, it felt like forever ago. Pulling in a long, quiet breath, Ichigo tuned his senses into the slow sensation of something ghosting lightly over strands of his hair, wondering whether the next movement was going to be the harsh shove of a hand pushing him to the floor. But it didn’t come, and after a few more moments Ichigo stopped caring. He knew he didn’t have a chance at napping, but it didn’t matter that much really.

A minute or two later, just as Ichigo realised that he hadn’t heard Grimmjow turn the pages of his book yet, an entire hand settled on the crown of his head. Wary curiosity was telegraphed through the contact, like the slightest movement from Ichigo would make it vanish. Solidly pretending he didn’t even notice, Ichigo held his breath and waited to see what Grimmjow would do. He had long fingers, so it felt like that one splayed hand could almost grip his entire skull from behind if he wanted. Could crush it, even. Could blow a hole in it with a single crimson cero. Ichigo knew he probably shouldn’t be feigning sleep in his lap while thinking about all the ways he could be brutally murdered, but self-preservation had never really been one of his priorities either.

As he lay there thinking about all of that, Grimmjow apparently decided that he’d been given tacit permission to touch him and started petting his hair in earnest. Actually petting it like—like his head was a big ginger cat and not like, a person he’d been intensely shitty with five minutes ago. Unseen by Grimmjow, Ichigo’s eyes popped open in surprise when fingertips dragged interested trails through the mess of it, sifting through the strands with quiet curiosity. Goosebumps prickled across his scalp and nape, only made worse when the questing fingers reached the end of their trail through his hair and smoothed down the longer strands that brushed his neck, rubbing the strands between his fingers. Letting his eyes fall shut again, Ichigo was actually contemplating sleeping for real when Grimmjow reversed his path, driving his fingers through his hair from the base of his skull all the way up. Soft fingertips ploughed through it until they touched the warmth of his scalp, pushing his hair in the wrong direction and then dragging his fingers out at the top of his hairline. Then the entire cycle repeated again.

Ichigo was pretty sure he’d just reached nirvana. Finally, he completely understood Grimmjow’s thing for being scrubbed and petted and cuddled up to. He’d never felt anything so good in his entire life. All his tension had slipped away, unwinding from his shoulders and neck like piano wire finally released after years of being drawn taut. The knot that had been holding his stomach tight dissolved until Ichigo simply felt like a boneless human puddle, warm and relaxed and—cared for. Yeah, he thought sleepily, turning his face further into the leg under his cheek. Maybe it felt a bit like that.

He must have dozed a little, or lost some time in there somewhere, because Ichigo eventually rose from his blissed-out stupor to the knowledge that he’d shifted onto his back, his face tilted closest to the faint warmth he could feel coming off Grimmjow’s body. He knew that because the fingertips that had been delving through his hair were now tracing the lines of his face; a light, barely perceptible touch that followed the curve of his brow into his cheek into his jaw, over and over like it was being committed to memory. His nerves lit up in strange sensation, heart thumping, and his eyes opened in reflexive surprise.

Grimmjow was looking down at him with an expression of such confused, frustrated tenderness it stopped Ichigo’s breath in his throat. He was glad he saw it because a shadow crossed his face almost the instant he realised Ichigo was awake, steeling the softness into something tense and wary.

“Fuck. Sorry.” Grimmjow’s gaze switched to something on the other side of the room, his mouth pulled down unhappily. When he yanked his hand away, Ichigo caught it.

It was a pretty good hand, all things considered. Smooth skinned, with a proportionate wrist size and long, sensitive fingers that twitched when his breath washed over them. Nice, squared-off fingernails without a hint of the claws they could become. Ichigo was probably holding it way too close to his face. Bringing it back a little to look at the palm, he tried to get a good look at what had almost sent him straight off to sleep with only a few gentle strokes through his hair.

“No wonder,” Ichigo muttered to himself, running his thumb across the skin at the base of Grimmjow’s fingers. He had the kind of softness that belonged to a newborn, which was exactly what his body was in a way. All his scars and old fractures, his espada number six, and every toughened edge and ridge of skin that years of fighting tooth and nail had earned him…all gone with the evolution. Gone with his hierro, because Ichigo’s power gave him the skin of a shinigami and stole his mask in return. There was something almost guilty still attached with that thought. He’d liked Grimmjow just as he was. There was nothing he’d ever have changed on purpose.

“What the hell, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow asked in a low voice, still looking unsettled. The muscles in his legs twitched a little like he wanted to get up and leave. But he didn’t pull his hand out of Ichigo’s grip, like he might want to point out simply for Ichigo’s sake that he was being weird. Giving him the clear opportunity to be the one who didn’t like close contact, the one who grimaced and put up with it. The one who told Grimmjow to quit doing gross adjuchas things—the one who didn’t complain when Ishida crossed a far more obvious line, something he’d never even thought to attempt.

Ichigo pushed his cheek into the cradle of that impossibly soft hand, turning until his mouth could brush the heel of his palm. He actually heard Grimmjow’s sharp inhale but ignored it, dragging his lips across his skin, back and forth until he realised that yeah, Grimmjow’s skin was softer than his own mouth. That shouldn’t even be possible.

What if—

Inspired and not giving himself time to think it through, Ichigo sat up and twisted his hips to turn toward Grimmjow, tucking his legs up as he budged right up next to him. Grimmjow was busy staring at his own hand like he’d never seen it before, so he completely failed to notice Ichigo’s fingers until they touched the slight curve of his lower lip. Yeah, this was way more—

Grimmjow snapped his jaw open and bit him.

“FUCK,” Ichigo yelled reflexively, yanking against the teeth clamped between the second and third knuckles of two of his most important fingers. Grimmjow’s head moved but his jaw was locked down tight. His bite pressure was terrifying. “Let go, asshole! I was just trying to touch your lips!” At that, unbelievably, Grimmjow looked at Ichigo like he was the weird one. “Oh, so it’s a double standard now? You dick.”

With a suddenly pissy expression that said Grimmjow had many replies to make to that but didn’t want to let go of his fingers enough to speak, he angrily flexed his jaw and lashed his tongue over Ichigo’s fingertips, and that…really didn’t have the intended effect. Because Grimmjow was irritable and silent, his hands absently curling while he kind of menacingly sucked on Ichigo’s fingers. Which shouldn’t be a thing.

Feeling his cheeks burn a little and his shoulders drop, Ichigo leaned in close and bent his captured fingertips, just a little, until he could find the hot, wet pressure of his tongue again. Really shouldn’t be a thing, he thought dazedly, feeling Grimmjow’s tongue rub beneath the pads of his fingertips. Lifting his eyes to find tilted blue, Ichigo froze at the expression in them. Danger, those eyes said. Something was close to breaking point, and he wondered if it was Grimmjow’s tolerance for his actions. Slowly, a scant millimetre at a time, his jaw relaxed until his teeth weren’t holding him hostage anymore, just loosely sort of grazing the abused and indented skin he’d released.

“Ow,” Ichigo said without inflection, slowly pulling his wet fingers from the soft suction of Grimmjow’s mouth. He stopped only when he could press gently on his lower lip, but after the bite he just couldn’t tell sensation with them properly.

Ichigo dragged his fingers away and kissed him instead.

He had a single instant of _oh shit_ and the vague impression of plush-warm-smooth but Grimmjow yanked his face to the side almost immediately, looking livid.

“Don’t fuckin’ start with this fairness bullshit, Kurosaki,” he spat fiercely, his eyes blazing. “That’s not why I’m pissed and I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you think that quincy’s asshole move means you’ve gotta do the same—”

Not nearly enough, Ichigo thought with annoyance and darted in again, this time also grabbing a handful of blue hair and the edge of his black collar. Grimmjow was rigid and almost shaking with tension by then, even if he spread his knees out when Ichigo straddled his thigh to get in closer. His hands skidded up the worn denim of his jeans for something to grab but just sort of ended up rubbing Ichigo’s thighs instead. It felt like the kind of nice that owed nothing to the word soft.

Again though Grimmjow turned his face away, breathing hard and visibly swallowing. His pissed off expression kept breaking apart with each faint heave of his shoulders.

Licking his lips, heart absolutely hammering with his own audacity, Ichigo waited for him to do or say something. As each second ticked by, it occurred to him with growing embarrassment that he’d just kissed Grimmjow and been kind of rejected.

Twice.

Caught up in his own ideas and sense of discovery, absolutely misreading everything because of people like Kon and Ishida, he’d behaved like—like some kind of cat in heat. Like the kind of thing he’d told Grimmjow wasn’t allowed, because of appearances and what people might think and personal boundaries. No wonder he was pulling away. Ichigo’s actions probably made him look like he’d been body-snatched by aliens.

“Sorry,” Ichigo said, the blood draining from his face so fast he felt a little dizzy. “I shouldn’t have—I should have asked first. Or not done it at all. Ever.” Shifting his weight to the side he moved to get off Grimmjow’s leg with the intention to find a small cupboard to lock himself in and never emerge from. Who the hell did he think he was, trying something like that? So what if Grimmjow had the softest mouth in existence or—or liked to touch him so much he indulged himself while Ichigo was dozing. So what if he’d been jealous over Ishida being a meddling asshole. None of it equated to the kind of thing that said actually kissing him was ever okay. He’d shamed his family. His mother would cry. He might as well just disappear and never, ever—

A hard arm caught the bend of his waist as he tried to escape, hauling him back until Ichigo was half-sitting in Grimmjow’s lap.

“Body’s too sensitive, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow told him, his voice shaking a little. “Gotta go slow with me.”

Ichigo stared.

“What? I mean—yeah.” He swallowed. “I didn’t think of that. Are you okay?” After a small, brief nod, Ichigo glanced down at Grimmjow’s lap and away almost instantly, teeth sinking into his own lip. From just a kiss. From just him. Just his hands and mouth. Ichigo might still be moments away from his twenties but even he didn’t react that quickly. But then, he didn’t have an unfamiliar body that probably felt as raw and exposed as a tender nerve. It’d probably only take one more to actually make Grimmjow—

“Sorry about the Ishida thing,” Ichigo blurted out, distracting himself from the appeal of the idea. “He took me by surprise. But so did you, I guess.”

“Guess we’re all surprised now.”

“…yeah.”

Ichigo wanted to say so much more, to explain himself, but Grimmjow looked like he didn’t want it. Not just then, anyway. His hand was still clamped on Ichigo’s hip, his forearm crossing his lap like the steel bar of a carnival attraction. You must be this tall to ride—

Attraction, Ichigo thought, clenching his jaw and hoping he wasn’t sweating. God damn it. Grimmjow’s fingers were playing with the edge of his t-shirt, bringing the slide of skin against his waist when the hem lifted too far. What a shitty time to realise he was in his prime and a little bit in love with an arrancar that liked to touch him but couldn’t quite stand to be touched in return just yet.

“Hey, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said after a few moments of praying to every god he could put a name to. “D’you think fighting will be a problem? I know I said we would, but I’m kind of out of practice and if you’d rather face off with someone else, I get it.” Fighting could be weird, after all. One moment you’re clashing swords and yelling about rescuing people, and the next you were holding black-furred hands and saving your opponent from a gangly interloper with a giant sickle. Grimmjow had always blurred those lines with him, somewhere in the grey area between fury and joy.

Grimmjow’s free hand slid up over the hoodie and ran back down his spine, and everything was suddenly, totally okay. The blue gaze he levelled him with was serious, and a little sardonic.

“Kurosaki, if I’m not squarin’ off with you then my sword can fucking rust in its sheath. I don’t give a shit about whether you think you’re up for it.” Grimmjow looked past Ichigo’s stunned eyes to the window. His brow was drawn into a frown, but he didn’t look angry. “Pantera's yours as much as mine at this point.”

Oh.

Oh, hell.

There was a terrifying warmth in Ichigo’s chest, the kind that stripped important things away. It was pouring through all the barriers he kept in place to protect himself like an enormous, cresting wave of realisation. It felt like the last lingering defences that Blue hadn’t been able to get through, but Grimmjow could effortlessly disintegrate with a handful of some really, really good words. Just like that. He said it like it was just a simple truth, like it didn’t mean anything.

Pantera was his. For him. Against him. But always his.

It echoed something Ichigo had known like the hilt of his own zanpakutou, like the promise he made in Las Noches years ago when his opponent refused to be defeated.

_I’ll be whatever you want, if you will be too._

“I’m really sorry,” Ichigo said urgently, sincerely, right before he pushed Grimmjow back against the couch and kissed him a third time, deeply, knowing his tongue wouldn’t be bitten. Plunging a hand into his hair, Ichigo tilted his head right back until he could find the perfect angle to pull a surprised moan from the stunned arrancar beneath his searching lips.

To be honest, Grimmjow didn’t seem to mind that much.


	13. Chapter 13

After that day, things began to change in a way Ichigo hadn’t really expected or intended.

Even though the kiss had been an impulsive urge and Ichigo still couldn’t really bring himself to think too hard about it, he did back off entirely on the grounds that Grimmjow had looked like he was truly suffering after that third kiss, eyes slightly wild and cheeks high with colour. He wasn’t a monster, after all. Figuring Grimmjow wasn’t averse but it wasn’t really any kind of time for that, Ichigo made a mental promise to himself to act like it had never happened until circumstance reminded him otherwise.

Then Isshin made up the futon on the floor of Ichigo’s bedroom, complete with a plump pillow and decorated with the anatomically correct heart plushie he’d given to Yuzu one year. Grimmjow’s new bed, as promised.

Grimmjow had stared at it for a long moment with a confused, tense expression Ichigo couldn’t quite decipher, but ultimately threw himself down on it without a word and set about punching the pillow into some sort of shape. It irked Ichigo that he’d accepted it so readily, but like hell he was going to be the guy who complained about getting his king single bed back to himself again. Actively asking to remain plastered against each other every night would raise awkward questions he wasn’t sure he could answer.

For all the domestic distance that had been imposed, there was always one place Ichigo could count on where everything made sense.

The battlefield.

“You sure you took down that quincy king?” Grimmjow laughed between swift clashes of their swords. He was bleeding from a cut on his bicep. Blood was smeared on his cheek where the tip of Zangetsu had caught him on a wide arc. For all his feline attributes, his smile was utterly wolfish. “Let me guess, you fucked him up while he was sleeping.”

Dancing backward from Pantera’s gleaming reach, Ichigo hauled back with his longsword and dug a warning half-circle trench in the dirt. Wiping sweat from the corner of his mouth, half-grinning, he tried not to project his next move. It was pitch dark except for the yellow glow of Isshin’s gas camping lantern, which threw strange shadows on the ground like some bizarre puppet show. He knew Grimmjow didn’t need it.

“If I was that type, I’d have let you fall back in Las Noches.” Changing grip on his sword, Grimmjow’s eyes flicked to it in time for Ichigo to flash-step behind him, leaving his night-vision exposed to the glare of the lantern he’d been obscuring. Hauling his shortsword up to Grimmjow’s throat didn’t freeze him though; Ichigo still had to stop two mule-kicks and dodge a snap of his skull toward his face. “How’s the new form? Any new surprises?”

“A few.” Grimmjow shoved his hips back against Ichigo, then used the surprise the contact elicited to limbo clean out of the hold with barely a millimetre between the blade and his throat to spare. Ichigo scowled at the suddenly empty space in front of him. “Flexibility is up, I guess. Hierro’s still gone, but my skin’s itchy. Bones feel stronger.” Rushing Ichigo suddenly, sword out front and straight as a lance, Grimmjow darted in for a puncture strike. With the advantage of his wider sword, it acted as a shield but Ichigo was driven back two feet in the dirt all the same. The shadow that was Grimmjow seemed to radiate enjoyment. “Wanna quit playin’ about and get into this for real?”

Swinging off a getsuga tenshou that lit their makeshift arena red-black with reiryoku, giving himself some distance, Ichigo thought about exactly what he was suggesting. They’d been fighting in their equivalent of shikai the entire night, more like play-biting between instances of conversation than anything substantial. Easing into it. Ichigo was out of practice and Grimmjow needed to learn what the shinigami element in his new form meant, but after two hours it was already getting old. The familiar prickle was under his skin as he saw Grimmjow skid backward and flick his sword clean of imaginary blood, his teeth white and bared.

Quit playing about, his mind echoed, a white voice of intense interest pushing forward for the first time in over a year. Someone worthy was in front of him. Not a mere hollow. Not a mere anything. The land could take it. That land had taken worse. There was nobody about, but…

Grimmjow cursed. “You fuckin’ think too much, Kurosaki.” He sheathed his sword, then began to draw it again. Ichigo tensed.

“Grimmjow, wait—”

_“Grind, Pantera!"_

Reiryoku blue as gasflame lit up around him, engulfing the entire plateau and the surrounding woods. Ichigo could only switch swords and plant himself like a tree against it. But something about the power filling his senses felt strange. Familiar, in a way Grimmjow never had before.

Expecting the usual pervasive onslaught of reiatsu hitting his senses like sandpaper Ichigo tensed reflexively, but all that hit him was a weird sense of echolocation. It felt like—some of it felt like—

“Me,” Ichigo whispered as the light retreated at last, leaving Grimmjow sheathed in white plating from shoulders to feet, his tail lashing in joints inherited from his adjuchas form. Hair like a wild waterfall was shifting in the breeze: a blue flag of danger he remembered too well. “You feel like me.”

“If you’re muttering prayers, Kurosaki, you might wanna shout,” Grimmjow said on a throaty feline laugh, flexing his black claws in delight. “God ain’t listening too hard tonight.”

All Ichigo’s jumbled thoughts of wonder and surprise were shelved in the exact moment that Grimmjow launched himself forward, reiatsu like a lead weight around them and eyes blazing with a fierce, abiding battle joy. Thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere, anyway. Fighting had never been about drawn out strategy—that had never been their way. Their battles had been instinct, and blood and need—

“Eyes on me!” Grimmjow snarled, coming in with a hard right claw-strike, faster than Ichigo could anticipate. He checked it at the last minute, catching the wrist still slowly bringing up Zangetsu and drove the sword back down into the dirt. In an instant Ichigo was face to face with Grimmjow’s released form, his hand squeezing the bones of his wrist together. His face was in shadow and Ichigo had no idea what his expression was. The air Grimmjow exhaled was the air he breathed in. “What, you think I’m not enough for you anymore? Gone past me? Me like this?”

The hand that had crushed his wrist moved up to his arm, then his shoulder, then his neck. Obsidian claws pricked the soft skin of his neck in warning, but Ichigo couldn’t summon an ounce of fear. Maybe that was the difference.

“No,” Ichigo said, looking into that backlit outline his eyes couldn’t catch. “I was just looking at you. I haven’t seen you in this form since Las Noches.” Telling him about his reiatsu would probably just piss him off. Grimmjow was proud of being a hollow, wasn’t he? “I made you a promise, last time you looked like this.”

The obscured face so close to his was completely unreadable at his angle, but the claws near his neck only flexed gently. Warm breath bathed his cheeks and mouth.

“I remember that promise, Kurosaki.”

“Is that why you came back?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Claws pricked his neck in warning. Wrong answer. “I think you wanted something familiar.” Claws dug into his skin, almost to the point of drawing blood. Think harder. “I think you missed me.”

One by one, each claw released its threatening press against his throat. Reprieve, whether it was for honesty or just getting it so wrong Grimmjow gave up entirely. Fighting was more important than any verbal argument. Ichigo tried not to relax as Grimmjow leapt back three paces, seven, twelve, twenty, opening a distance between them that felt cold, like something he could only close with his blade. The reiatsu around him was dense, hungry and threatening, and it demanded something in return. Something he’d promised; something he’d once offered without reserve.

Steeling himself, Ichigo drew both blades of Zangetsu.

_“Bankai."_

Maybe it was finally time to bleed a little.

* * *

Routine was established. Days slid by into weeks, and before anyone realised it Grimmjow had become a permanent fixture at the Kurosaki household.

It was a little frightening to Ichigo how easily everyone accepted him, even knowing that they’d done the same when he was adjuchas. Sure, the girls had had a less than normal upbringing, and they’d seen their fair share of the supernatural, but it didn’t faze them at all to walk into the living room and find Grimmjow squinting at his sword with a black eye, scrutinising the blade for nicks. Whenever they saw Ichigo hobbling around like an old man the morning after a hard battle, they scolded Grimmjow for not taking it easy on him. Naturally he laughed in their faces and on more than one occasion, flipped Karin upside down by her ankles until she started screaming about domestic abuse.

He was a lot easier on Yuzu though, because of course he’d play clear favourites. Her worst crime so far was to wash his sheets each week and wipe out the good scent he’d finally worked into it. He’d actually yelled at her for that, until she jammed her ladle under his chin and yelled right back that he was going to end up with bedbugs, and if he had a problem he could go sleep on the roof. Grimmjow had rocked back on his heels so fast he almost lost his balance.

“You don’t get in the way of Yuzu and housekeeping,” Ichigo told him with sympathy later on, when Grimmjow was sitting on his futon sniffing his own feet, trying to decide if his socks needed to go in the hamper. “Gimme those, you freak.”

“Fuck off,” Grimmjow replied automatically, one leg practically bent over his own head. “No-one is taking my shit until I say so. It’s the only autonomy I still got left.”

Ichigo blinked. “What part of our bookcase are you up to these days?”

Tugging off his socks at last, Grimmjow pitched them right into Ichigo’s face. Damp, rancid-smelling sweaty socks, right in the mouth. Great. And the fucker was laughing at him, too. Throwing them in the vague direction of his hamper, Ichigo flipped over and sprawled on his bed to thumb idly through his phone.

“Halfway through Karin’s feminism shit.” Ichigo glanced over in surprise, but Grimmjow was busy in another fucking pretzel pose, checking his toenails. Bendy asshole. “Did you know men fucking get paid more for doing the exact same work? Sounds like some Aizen bullshit to me. Only two out of the ten espada he chose were chicks, and Harribel ended up with the outfit showing that much tit? Fuckin’ makes you think, Kurosaki.” Finally looking up from his close examination of his toes, Grimmjow hesitated at the expression on Ichigo’s face. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You laughing at me?”

“No,” said Ichigo, his lips twitching no matter how hard he tried to bite them down. “Not in a mean way, at least. You’re just never what I expect.” Slightly mollified, Grimmjow settled back down on his futon, having been halfway to kneeling up and probably punching him in the side of the head. Ichigo reached over and poked him in his unmasked cheek. “You’ve always been like this, right? It’s not a side-effect of the whole evolution thing.”

“Strength is the only thing worth measuring anyone by,” Grimmjow said, batting his hand away. “Tits and balls don’t mean shit to me.”

“You sound like Kenpachi.”

“Who the fuck is Kenpachi?”

“Someone I will die to make sure you never meet in person.” Ichigo tugged his pillow down to his chest and leaned his elbows over it, opening up a new game of Stack Jump. Inane tower jumping while he talked himself into tiredness with Grimmjow before bed sounded perfect. Sleep was still pretty hit-and-miss, but he was getting better at managing it. Grimmjow refused to fight him on the days he weaved around the house looking like shit, so he was using it as mental motivation. His ego couldn’t honestly keep taking that sort of damage.

“What’s that you got?” Not waiting for a reply, Grimmjow launched off the futon and landed crouched on all fours over Ichigo’s back, leaning forward to stare over his shoulder at the small screen of his phone. “Some kind of game? You—oh, the little fucker just died.”

“I wonder why,” Ichigo said crossly, trying to ignore the heat radiating against his back. Grimmjow wasn’t even touching him and he could still break his concentration. “Go back to sucking on your toes. I’ve got a high score to beat.”

“Let me try.” Stretching forward to touch the screen, Grimmjow tried to start a new game. Ichigo held the phone out even further to dissuade him, but in retaliation all Grimmjow did was sprawl himself out against his back like a living blanket. A hard chin notched into the space over his shoulder, shoving their cheeks together. Half-squashed into the mattress, staring unseeingly at the phone he was holding out, Ichigo didn’t have a hope in hell of stopping Grimmjow from grabbing it after that.

The thing was, Grimmjow didn’t move away. He stayed right there, a long line of warmth from Ichigo’s shoulders to his knees. Bracketed by long arms that curved around him to get to the phone, he was completely enveloped by Grimmjow’s body. What kind of cruel asshole… Giving up on the phone, Ichigo buried his entire face in the pillow in the hopes he might suffocate and pass out.

Above him, Grimmjow shifted comfortably and started his first few jumps, rubbing his cheek against Ichigo’s head to ease an itch. Something inside Ichigo screamed and died. He didn’t have the nerve or the willpower to tell Grimmjow to get off, and honestly he was pretty damn warm even if the pressure on his ribcage from the weight of him was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Ichigo pulled his face out just enough to breathe and let him have his fun instead.

“This is boring,” Grimmjow announced ten minutes later, having absolutely smashed his high score and gone on to make a new record. “If this is what you do for fun, then—Kurosaki? You asleep?”

“Yes,” Ichigo said, not bothering to open his eyes. “Or should I say, unconscious from being flattened under you for this long.”

“Could’ve told me to move.”

“Would you have?”

“Nah. This makes me nostalgic.” Reaching over his head to put the phone down on the desk, Grimmjow settled back down on top of him and pushed his face into the curve of his shoulder. Nostalgia, huh? He was straight into his old favourite position: using Ichigo like a mattress and getting a good lungful of his scent with every breath. The only thing was, in his adjuchas body it was totally innocent. In his arrancar one, every shift of his hips to find a more comfortable spot and every push of his mouth against Ichigo’s throat was sending some seriously different messages.

“I can’t sleep like this,” Ichigo muttered, burrowing his arms under the pillow and turning his face away from Grimmjow. “Get off me.”

“What’s your problem? Used to sleep like this a lot.”

“Imagine if I jumped into your bed and did this, dumbass. Picture it for a second.”

Ichigo knew the exact moment that Grimmjow caught the meaning in his words, because the nose rubbing into the hair behind his ear went as still as stone. Finally, the enormous feline arrancar figured out not all touching was considered friendly social grooming. Such a dumbass, even after the afternoon on the couch when Ichigo had awkwardly promised to keep himself at a distance. Big tough bookworm reading about social issues in the living world, still with no clue about himself. It would be kind of adorable if it didn’t make Ichigo want to chew his way through his pillow.

When Grimmjow finally pulled away in careful silence, the length of Ichigo’s back felt the coldest it had in his entire life.

The quick, almost clumsy press of lips to the nape of his neck was a surprise. Grimmjow was thumping down in his own bed before Ichigo could even think of reacting with either word or movement, slinging his jacket across the room and hauling the blankets over himself. The back he put to Ichigo looked tense and hunched. Maybe even a little unhappy.

Still feeling the press of Grimmjow’s mouth on his skin like a brand, Ichigo wondered if that meant he’d keep his distance even further from now on. That was the opposite of what he wanted, but his reactions to it were all muddled up somewhere between craving the contact and hating his own reactions to even the smallest, thoughtless touches. He didn’t want to ruin whatever was happening between them. Unless the only person it was happening to was him.

Feeling cold and wretched, Ichigo reached up to the desk and switched the lamp off, glad for the darkness that fell around him like a curtain. Pulling his own blankets down, shoving his pillow back into place, he hesitated before just giving up and getting into bed. Reaching down blindly for the darker lump of shadows that made up Grimmjow’s tense body, he stretched out until his fingers touched the curve of a shoulder.

“Hey.”

No answer. None but the fingertips that lifted to touch his in the dark.

“Goodnight, Grimmjow,” Ichigo whispered.

“…night.” His tone was flat and quenched, but the soft brush of a mouth across his fingers said things were still all right.

Whatever held Grimmjow back, it didn’t seem to be him, Ichigo thought as he reluctantly settled back into his bed and tucked his legs beneath his sheets. Or at least, nothing he’d done. It was becoming more and more apparent that Grimmjow might have a simplistic view of the world and the people he met, but there was a lot of thinking going on behind the scenes that owed nothing to blood and battle.

If it meant Ichigo got a peek inside that strange mind someday, he was content to wait as long as it took.

Rustling quietly in the darkness, Grimmjow rolled back in his direction and exhaled, low and soft. It sounded like resignation, and it made Ichigo smile his way into sleep.

Yeah. He could wait.

* * *

“Good morning, Kurosaki household! And what a glorious morning it is.”

The words were bright, overly genial and hidden by a small paper fan. Ichigo blinked at Urahara Kisuke, then at Yuzu and Karin. Yuzu was watching him suspiciously from the kitchen, but Karin was actually smiling and gesturing for him to sit. Surly, borderline violent Karin was smiling at the much older shinigami man standing in their living room. Had she let him in?

“I’m going back to bed,” Ichigo announced, promptly turning around and walking face-first into his father’s stubble. Isshin just grabbed him in a loose headlock and spun him back the other way.

“Oh, Urahara! Welcome to our home,” Isshin said, like this was a totally normal thing and he was happy to see him. “Yuzu, make the man some tea. Karin, you’re not smiling like that at anyone until you’re twenty-one. I forbid it. Ichigo, go find your other half for me.”

“He’s in the bathroom, probably using my toothbrush again.” Peeling Isshin’s arm away from his throat, Ichigo yawned and turned toward the staircase. “Grimmjow! Urahara’s here.”

“So fucking what?” Grimmjow shouted back, sounding like he was gargling marbles. A spitting sound that bordered on retching followed. “He’s a curse, and I ain’t going near him.” Assorted banging and slamming of drawers followed, but Ichigo knew he’d come stomping down the stairs any moment. Snapping his fan shut, Urahara smiled at Ichigo. It even seemed genuine.

“Kurosaki-san, it’s been a long time.”

“Ages,” Ichigo agreed. “Sorry I haven’t been by.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” Urahara said, waving his hand like he could sweep the words from the air. “Surely you’re quite sick of shinigami at this point. You deserve a rest more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Right,” replied Ichigo, more than a little confused. When Urahara’s eyes turned toward the stairwell expectantly, he understood. Urahara wasn’t visiting him, he wanted to see Grimmjow. That took a lot of the pressure off. Relaxing slightly, he turned and wandered into the kitchen to find the cereal. When he reached for the cupboard door, Yuzu grabbed his wrist with the strength of an adrenaline mom trying to lift a car. Her eyes were crazy.

“I don’t like this,” she hissed. “What’s he doing here? Something’s going on.”

“Calm down. He’s weird, but he’s a friend.” Ichigo pried her hand off finger by finger with some difficulty. “Last time he saw Grimmjow they were all dying in Soul Society. He just wants to talk.”

“He’s too good at talking,” Yuzu replied sharply, opening the cupboard he’d been after and yanking out his favourite cereal. She started making him a bowl with short, stressed motions that said if he tried to do it himself she’d probably scratch his eyes out. “Karin respects him because he mentors her on hollows and stuff, and I think she’d probably have sex with him if he asked, but—”

“What?” Ichigo asked, aghast. “Karin? Sex? She’s a kid! You’re a kid!”

Yuzu’s look was impatient. “Ichigo, what were you doing when you were fifteen?”

“Not having sex with old men who smell like sherbert, for one thing,” he said loudly. Too loudly. Isshin and Karin were staring at him with identical expressions of confused embarrassment. Urahara’s fan just snapped open like a peacock’s tail. His eyes were laughing.

“What a comfortable looking couch! So modern. I’m going to sit on it,” Urahara said with stubborn cheerfulness, inviting himself into the living room. Karin trailed after him, and Isshin followed like a protective guard dog. “Grimmjow, if you don’t come down I’m afraid I will have to come up there and coax you! We have matters to discuss!”

Something hit the floor upstairs. Grimmjow said a word that made Yuzu almost drop the milk.

“So you’re teaching Karin the basics of spiritually aware self-defence,” Isshin said slowly, filling the ringing silence that followed that. “What sort of student is she?”

“Dad,” Karin muttered. “This isn’t parent-teacher night.” Still, Ichigo saw her eyes turn to Urahara with curiosity. She was seeking his approval? Oh god, it was a teacher crush. Was she bringing him apples? Asking for extra tuition? Pretending not to understand the study material? Ichigo wanted to drag her into another room and shut the door. It didn’t matter that Urahara would never entertain the idea of it. Karin was having feelings. Tough, grouchy Karin was sweet on someone she couldn’t possibly have.

“She’s a very quick study,” Urahara was saying. “With your permission, I’d like to begin teaching her some basic kidou techniques. One to ten only, of course, and under strict supervision.”

Isshin scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Well, if Karin is interested, I see no—”

“Definitely interested,” Karin cut in, fists clenched by her sides. She was nearly vibrating with intensity. “I want to learn the one that shoots burning red light straight through people. I mean, hollows.”

“Tryin’ to get back at me for hanging you up like a fresh carcass?” Grimmjow asked lazily, stepping into the room with such soft footsteps Ichigo hadn’t even heard him come down. “Need to know how to move before that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Karin said with emphasis. “But nobody knows how to fight without a sword they can just pull out of their asses, and Yoruichi keeps telling me I’m still too young for her style. Whatever that means.”

Urahara let out a nervous laugh, distracting everyone. “I’m sure we can discuss the finer points of combat at a later date.” Coughing lightly into his sleeve, he rose and turned to Grimmjow. Sharp grey eyes took in his unmasked jaw, the belt loosely buckled across his hips and his moody expression in one quick hit. “Grimmjow, at last. You’re looking exceptionally well for a dead arrancar.”

“Hmph.” The look Grimmjow flicked him was considering. “Thought your eyes would unravel with your bankai.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“No shit.”

Watching them eye each other, Ichigo blindly ate his cereal while Yuzu leaned on the counter next to him, completely ignoring the request for tea. He didn’t know what she was expecting would happen, but for his part it was just interesting watching them interact. Urahara’s dealings with Grimmjow had been something he’d never asked about. It had never really crossed his mind to question what had happened that had gotten him on board with fighting the sternritter. Blackmail? Or just the real threat of Hueco Mundo’s destruction?

Grimmjow kept his hands in his pockets when Urahara extended his hand, but rather than express any awkwardness Urahara left it reaching out, still smiling his inexplicably friendly smile.

“I owe you my life, you know. It was an immeasurable relief to know you survived, and better still to see you in the flesh. I took quite a blow when Nelliel told me you had succumbed to Askin Nakk Le Vaar’s deathdealing.” His smile faltered into something a little sad. “I dislike debts greatly, but none moreso than those I can never repay.”

“There wasn’t any debt,” Grimmjow said shortly. His expression was unreadable. “I agreed, didn’t I? My choice, all the way through. Even if it had killed me, still wouldn’t have been anyone’s fault but mine.” Blue eyes slid to where Ichigo stood in the kitchen, wiping milk off his chin from a badly-aimed spoonful of cereal. “Only an idiot would think it was their fault.”

Sucking the last drop of milk off his thumb, Ichigo shrugged unapologetically and let Yuzu take his empty bowl. She dumped it in the sink with enough force she was lucky it didn’t smash. He walked around the edge of the bench and in toward the living room where Grimmjow hung tensely, back to staring at Urahara’s hand like it was a live snake.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that point, I suppose.” Urahara finally let his hand drop, but the smile stayed. “In any case, I’m not here to swindle you into any more life-threatening acts of heroism. Since you’re very obviously attached to the Kurosaki family and therefore spending your time exclusively in the world of the living, I thought I might offer you permanent residence in my shop. Free of charge, of course. You’d have your own room and amenities, freedom to come and go, plus access to my personal training bunker beneath the shop—”

“Not a chance,” Ichigo said fiercely, folding his hand into the bend of Grimmjow’s elbow. “This is his home.”

Grimmjow’s head snapped around so fast it had to have hurt, but there was nothing except wide-open shock on his face. Lips parting like he was going to say something, he stared at Ichigo but nothing came out. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, Ichigo had an instant to feel embarrassed by his reaction but he ignored it entirely. It was for the best really, since Yuzu burst out of the kitchen and threw herself in front of Grimmjow like she was going to defend him to the death.

“You can’t have him,” she near-snarled at Urahara with such ferocity Ichigo had to wonder where her damn backbone was coming from. “Grimmjow is ours.”

“Ah, don’t misunderstand me!” Urahara’s fan was fluttering open and shut, open and shut. “I’m not here to steal anybody. As Grimmjow himself says, he makes all his own decisions. Including where to live, I should think. Isn’t it quite crowded in here?” His agate gaze held a measuring glint as he looked at Grimmjow. “Wouldn’t you like some space to yourself? You’d have all my services at your disposal as thanks.”

When Grimmjow just stood there like a mannequin, eyes flitting between them all, Ichigo felt a sudden hard knot of something like fear hit him in the gut. What was he doing, acting like he could decide for Grimmjow, like he could keep him there by sheer force of will? He was sleeping on the floor of Ichigo’s room, cramped into a house that didn’t have enough bedrooms for an extra person, let alone any space for privacy or belongings or—anything, really. Everyone was everywhere, all the time. Urahara wasn’t coming in like some evil villain; he was offering Grimmjow something out of kindness and a sense of honour. Taking it like a combative attack was just his insecurity talking.

And yet, Yuzu was reacting the exact same way. Isshin’s demeanour had sobered as he glanced around at his family. And Karin…her ready smile for Urahara had faded into a perplexed, uncertain line. When Ichigo’s eyes found his father’s, he didn’t know what expression he was showing, but it made Isshin sigh.

“If Grimmjow chooses to follow Urahara, that is his right and I respect it,” Isshin said, with all the forthright fairness of a seasoned peacemaker. Grimmjow blinked over at him, his mouth tightening. Tension radiated from his arm into Ichigo’s hand. “As should we all. Because we’re certainly all mature adults who would never burn down the shop in the dead of night to force this arrancar back into our home.” His eyes slid to Grimmjow. “Where he is clearly very welcome to stay, for as long as he chooses.”

Of all that had just been said, Ichigo didn’t quite understand why it was his father’s final words to Grimmjow that finally loosened the tension in his body. Was it the threat of arson, or the head of the family ruling that he could stay? Whatever it was, Grimmjow gave Isshin a short, terse nod and pulled his arm out of Ichigo’s grip. With a stab of alarm, Ichigo wondered if he was going to leave anyway.

“Sorry, Boss,” Karin said finally, her mouth pulling up in a half-smirk. “I think I have to vote against you too. He’s a mean cat, but we’re a pretty mean family when we want to be.” Walking over to Grimmjow’s other side, she placed a proprietary hand on his shoulder. The effect was ruined by how high she had to stretch to do it. “We’re keeping him.”

Grimmjow was looking around himself like he didn’t know exactly what the hell was going on, and even to Ichigo’s eyes he could see his hackles beginning to go up out of uncertainty. Maybe it was just one too many statements of ownership. He wasn’t a pet, after all. Maybe he really did want to go. Fighting an urge to reach out again, Ichigo took Yuzu by the shoulders and steered her gently away from him, following after her. Boxing him in with smothering affection was probably pissing him off.

“It’s a good offer,” Grimmjow said, and Ichigo’s heart sank like a stone. Squaring his shoulders, Grimmjow kept his blue eyes trained only on Urahara. “A real good offer. I’ll take that training bunker. But you can keep the rest.”

Ichigo closed his eyes in relief. In front of him, Yuzu made an awful hiccuping sound and turned around to push her face into his chest. Closing his arms around her reflexively, he watched over her head as Urahara snapped his fan shut gently, tapping the end to his lips. His smile was thoughtful as he looked at Grimmjow.

“Perhaps not the wisest decision you’ve ever made,” Urahara said, tugging his hat down to shadow his eyes. “You could have taken Kurosaki-san with you.” He smiled cheerfully, _knowingly_ at Ichigo and turned back to Grimmjow. “The bunker is of course at your disposal whenever you require it. Now, I won’t impose any further! Karin, I expect to see you this Thursday to begin kidou training. A pleasure as always to see you all.”

Isshin came to life again in time to see Urahara off with Karin, but the shady storeowner was practically showing himself out, far too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t actually gained anything. Then again, his motivations for doing most things fell somewhere between the intensely clandestine and the flat-out whimsical. Ichigo watched them go without saying anything more than a perfunctory goodbye, Yuzu still clasped tightly to him. A little too tightly as it turned out, since she pinched his side and pulled away to gasp for air. Fighting her way free, she wiped her face and turned to Grimmjow with fire in her eyes.

“Why’d it take you so long to say no? Ichigo was scared!” Kicking him in the shins with sock feet that were about as effective as throwing cotton candy at a wall, Yuzu stomped away back to the kitchen before he could react. “You’re so dumb sometimes!”

Watching her start angrily washing up the dishes, Ichigo thought about denying what she’d just said to protect his ego, but Grimmjow looked a million miles away. He didn’t even look like he’d heard what she’d said. He was just standing there in the middle of the living room, his expression locked down like a vault door. Compelled to make things harder for himself, Ichigo opened his mouth and said the words crowding the tip of his tongue.

“You know…we want you to stay but if you’d rather not, even Yuzu would probably understand. Eventually.”

“’S fine, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow was frowning out at the entry hallway, where the last exchanges of pleasantries floated back to them. “Think he probably knew I’d say no.” Blinking himself out of his reverie, he finally turned and looked clearly at Ichigo. “What’s that face for?”

If his face was reflecting any of the confusion and worry swarming like bees in his stomach, Ichigo didn’t know how to begin to reply to that.

“There’s no face,” Ichigo said lightly, opting for denial. “It’s just been a while since I’ve seen Urahara. Guess Kon was right about them keeping up to date with everything going on here.”

“No, there’s a face,” Grimmjow said with faint heat, approaching with single-minded focus. “It’s here,” a fingertip pressed the crease between his brows, “and down here too.” The fingertip slid down to the unhappy bracket hiding in the corner of his mouth. “So what is it? You fuckin’ tell me to stay, but you’re always looking like you wish I’d leave. So what’s all this shit about a home?”

“Shit?” Ichigo repeated, knocking his hand away. “You think us wanting you to stay is shit?”

Curling his hand into a loose fist, Grimmjow snatched his gaze back to the entry. Something about it made Ichigo grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

“If he’s a better offer, go ahead.” Ichigo forced himself to meet and hold the narrowed eyes that bore down into his. “I gave you a collar, not a leash.” When the words only seemed to tense Grimmjow back up again, his features pulling taut and angry, Ichigo held in a sigh and turned away to go back upstairs.

Grimmjow didn’t call out to stop him. Instead he took a single step and slipped his arms through the gap of Ichigo’s flank and arms, curling them around his middle until he could tug their bodies together, chest to back. Careful hands fit over his ribs, splayed like he wanted to cover as much surface area as possible. When Ichigo didn’t shove him away, Grimmjow dropped his face down onto his shoulder, tipped away where his expression would be hidden. Staring out at the hallway, ignoring Yuzu’s fascinated attention from the kitchen, Ichigo reached up until he could touch Grimmjow’s cheek. Something just didn’t feel right, hadn’t felt completely right for a while, but again he felt pretty sure he hadn't caused it. But if it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t know what the problem was, how the hell was he supposed to fix it?

At his back, Grimmjow hauled in a long, deep breath that sounded like it ached on the exhale. His arms tightened almost to the point of pain.

“Didn’t mean to,” Grimmjow muttered into the joint of Ichigo’s shoulder, almost too low to hear. He didn’t speak again, not even before he finally let go and blurred out of the room, his reiatsu not stopping until it flickered onto the roof where Yuzu had once threatened he could sleep.

Whatever Grimmjow didn’t mean to do, Ichigo didn’t know. 

The strange thing was, the words didn't seem meant for him.


	14. Chapter 14

Another night, another battle in the outskirts. The land had changed since they began using it, pockmarked by cero and reiatsu-scarred into new shapes. The flat dirt plateau they’d started out with was now carved with crescent-shaped trenches, the surrounding woods riddled with splintered trees on the border of their battlefield. Ichigo could tell they’d soon have to take Urahara up on his offer.

Even though it had been more than two weeks since the visit, Grimmjow was still behaving strangely. He wouldn’t talk about it and snapped whenever Ichigo tried to ask, no matter how roundabout and casual he tried to make it. Their fights, once full of laughter and challenging banter, had petered out into something silent and terse. More than once Ichigo thought about cancelling their sessions, but without them he wasn’t sure he’d ever get Grimmjow back in arm’s reach.

There was a canyon opening somewhere between them and Ichigo hated it. He also couldn’t see a single way across it.

So they fought, and despite Ichigo’s heart not being in it to begin with they always somehow ended up exhausted and injured, hands sore from gripping their swords, sweat dripping down their bodies to sting new cuts and make paths through the dirt on their skin.

“Are your hands doing okay?” Ichigo asked at one point, bracing Zangetsu against a flurry of quick, heavy strikes. There was blood streaming down Grimmjow’s wrist to his elbow. His hands were often ruined after their fights now; the soft skin that Ichigo could still shut his eyes and remember against his lips was blistered and worn from swordplay. Soon he’d have the tough hands of a warrior again, rough and scarred from use and injury.

“Blisters fucking burst,” Grimmjow grunted, ducking a daring swing at close range. Ichigo stepped inside his guard before he had time to straighten and grabbed his wrist. Immediately pissed off, he tried to jerk his arm free and when he couldn’t, he slugged Ichigo in the jaw with his other fist so hard his head snapped back. “We’re not stopping this fight for a damn bandage, Kurosaki. Get your fuckin’ hand off me so I can transform.”

“Whatever stops you spraying blood on me every time you swing,” Ichigo shot back, leaping back to wipe his own blood from his mouth. His lip was split. Tonguing his teeth gingerly, he checked for any that had come loose and spat on the dirt. “Hurry up then.” Bending down, Ichigo brushed down the leg of his hakama. Torn through again.

“What, you don’t want to watch?” Grimmjow taunted, an edge in his voice. Ichigo glanced up from his tear and frowned.

“I don’t even want to be out here.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Watching Grimmjow blink rapidly, sword falling limp in his grasp, he regretted it even more. But it was true—he _didn't_ want to be out there, fighting and going through the motions, unable to enjoy it because everything was clumsy and awkward and miserable, and he’d lost the fury and the desperation to defeat Grimmjow so long ago he didn’t even know how the hell to fight him like that anymore. Doing things by rote was just making everything feel a little bit worse.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sheathing his sword to partially draw it again, Grimmjow laid his fingernails against the flat of the blade but he didn’t drag them down. The blade flashed and spat blue reiryoku in anticipation. Ichigo just shook his head.

“It means I don’t want to fight you like this anymore.” Spreading his hands, he gestured to the battlefield. “You’ve got a handle on yourself now. We’ve done enough of this that you don’t actually need it, and I—” Swallowing, Ichigo clenched his hand tighter on the hilt of his sword. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Grimmjow, but beating it out of you isn’t working, and if you’re not going to tell me then I’m out of ideas!”

“Nothing’s fucking wrong, Kurosaki, that’s what you don’t fucking understand!” Grimmjow snarled. In one long screech of nails on steel he activated his resurrección, reiatsu slamming down around them both as a burst of familiar blue reiryoku engulfed his form. It cleared in a shower of strange sparks Ichigo hadn’t seen before, and Grimmjow stepped out of the haze minus one sword and dressed in white plates, teeth sharp and bared. “Just leave shit alone and worry about yourself. Plenty of problems there to obsess over.” The sneer in his voice was unfamiliar and it bruised worse than his fist. “Now fight me.”

Straightening out of his practised stance, Ichigo shook his head.

“No.” He swung Zangetsu onto his back. Grimmjow’s eyes widened in outrage. At his sides, dark claws flexed, clacking against the hard white of his thighs.

_“Kurosaki—”_

“Tell me what it is!” he yelled. Pure frustration was burning in his chest. “You said I look at you like I want you to leave? You’re acting like you’re the one who wants to! You avoid me to spend time up on the roof, Yuzu hardly sees you these days and Karin’s even started to notice. You think I can’t feel it in your blade that your head’s not in the game either? The hell are we doing out here when you’re acting like you can’t even stand us anymore?”

“It’s not that, you stupid fuck,” Grimmjow seethed, advancing like a stalking predator. The ragged green of his estigma stood out in the old camping lantern’s light, turning his eyes pale and his skin almost as white as his armour plating. “If I wanted to go I’d be fuckin’ gone already—”

“Then it’s me,” Ichigo cut in, closing the distance before Grimmjow could crowd him first, getting right in his face. “I thought it wasn’t, but there’s nothing else, is there? I changed things. I ruined it.”

Claws gripped the collar of his kosode and yanked him so close that Ichigo’s forehead hit the crown plating that rose above Grimmjow’s brow. A strange shudder worked its way up Ichigo’s spine, unsettled and wary. Something felt wrong in Grimmjow’s reiatsu. This close, it felt like it was fraying. The sparks from a moment ago that he’d never seen before rose up in his mind.

“Kurosaki, _you_ —” Grimmjow broke off on a hissed curse, his head dropping. Extending his arms, he pushed Ichigo back again, claws tearing through black fabric and leaving it hanging wide. The breath he pulled in was thready and uneven.

When Grimmjow looked up again, his eyes were blazing solid reiryoku blue.

“Oh fuck,” Ichigo whispered, the cold and rolling wave of grief from months ago crashing over him, trapped in the memory of eyes just like those. He reached up and tried to grab Grimmjow’s face to get a closer look. “You already evolved. What the hell is going on now?”

 _“Get back_ _,"_ Grimmjow rasped, trying to push him away. Reiryoku was crawling up over his body like spiderweb, clinging to the white plates of his armour and gathering with light. Pinpoints like stars, just like last time when he’d had to leap through a garganta to escape in case his power destabilised. His own power was turning on him, sinking into his skin and bone plates like it wanted to devour him. The shinigami echo Ichigo had felt inside Grimmjow—was it causing it?

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo said, choked with dread. “Don’t you fucking do this to me again. How do I stop it?”

Hunching down, doubling over like his muscles had all cramped at once, Grimmjow just tucked his head into his chest and gritted out a sound that was pure pain. His shoulders were shaking. Everything was shaking, like one long current of electricity was being pulled through his head to his feet. Ichigo started to panic.

“Maybe Urahara knew this might happen,” he said, thinking fast. His heart felt like it was jammed in his throat. “Maybe we can get you to him. If anyone can suppress reiryoku with kidou he can.”

“It’s coming on…too fast,” Grimmjow panted. He was tipped down so low the top of his head was pushed into Ichigo’s chest. “Kurosaki—I don’t know what the fuck this is. If it doesn’t—if I don’t—”

“Shut up,” Ichigo said hoarsely, grabbing a handful of his hair with one hand and folding his arm over Grimmjow’s head with the other. “Shut up and breathe. I’m not human tonight and we’re miles from the city. You’ll be fine. If you regress, we’ll just do it all over again, as many times as we have to til we get it right. Just don’t tell me to leave you like this.”

The reiryoku was swarming over his body too fast, gathering in large clumps that spread and joined each other like liquid mercury, flowing over his arms, his shoulders and stomach. It was spreading to envelop him entirely. Soon his whole body would look like those hazed over, glowing eyes that showed nothing but blue.

In seconds it had taken half his body. Half a minute and only one arm and his head were free, teeth chattering and bloody with a tear in his lower lip. Ichigo felt like he was free-falling.

“What do I do?” he whispered, staring in cold horror as Grimmjow hauled himself up in an agonising wrench of pure will. “Grimmjow, I don’t know what to do.”

 _“I do_ _."_ The words were distorted, inhuman, like two voices speaking slightly out of sync. A clawed hand sank into his collar again and pulled him close—

—and then Ichigo was tumbling through the air, over the trees with the starry sky spinning around him, thrown too far and fast to fight the wind resistance enough to move.

Behind him, blue light detonated in a domed flash of thunderous reiryoku. It rolled out and out until the earth churned beneath him, the air vibrating around him, whiting out everything with power. Ichigo went blind with it an instant before he hit hard stone, the back of his head slamming into a cliffside. He barely felt a thing as darkness began to crawl in.

All he knew was Grimmjow’s reiatsu had faded.

Ichigo reeled as he hit the ground and folded, knees striking the dirt and palms following right after, fingers clawing through shale and dry grass as blood ran warm trails over the back of his neck. Ahead, the blast radius had dissolved into darkness again. The air stank of scorched earth and ozone. At the edges of his vision, unconsciousness was threatening to take him.

Grimmjow’s reiatsu was gone.

Maybe—maybe a garganta—

_It’s coming on too fast_

The darkness pulled across his vision like a curtain, threatening oblivion. Ichigo sank to his elbows, breathing hard into the dirt, forehead braced on the ground.

“Fuck,” he whispered painfully, staring wide-eyed and stunned. " _Fuck."_

Ichigo didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go back there. He didn’t want to see was left behind, if anything was left behind. A shameful urge to run shook him. Instead he pushed himself upright, bracing against the shattered cliff when his vision wobbled. Allowing himself one moment, two moments to stand, he gathered his power and pushed off the stone to sprint back to the detonation site. Whatever Ichigo found there would be better than not knowing anything at all.

The head wound sent him reeling more than once, careening into the trees that he’d gone flying over, propelled by one long swing of Grimmjow’s arm. Of all the last damn gestures.

Gritting his teeth against the idea of a last anything, Ichigo cleared the treeline and slid down the side of a crater so clean and perfectly concave it looked like a god had reached down and carved it with an enormous hand. The dirt was smoking and hot under his hands. The red glow of superheated stone dotted the crater, exposed by the blast. It was the only thing giving any illumination in the area, casting strange shadows across the land.

In its epicentre, a shadow stood with impossible stillness.

A shadow with a long flag of pale blue hair.

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo breathed, his chest squeezing hard. He could feel his own disbelieving smile pull at the corner of his mouth. His eyes stung as he ran toward his outline, squinting with difficulty at a form his eyes couldn’t quite catch properly. “You dramatic son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill you. Fucking throwing me like that?!”

The lack of a reply should have been his first clue. The inability to make out more than Grimmjow’s hair should have been the second. Instead Ichigo made it all the way up to arm’s reach of his darkness-swathed figure and grabbed for what should have been his arm to turn him around.

With a full-throated roar of rage, the shape that used to be Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez spun and ripped its claws through Ichigo’s shoulder all the way down to the bone.

Crying out with the shock of pain, feeling claws snag on his collarbone as Grimmjow ripped his hand free, Ichigo felt the hot whip of his own blood splatter the side of his face. Eyes entirely filmed over with glowing blue glared at him. There wasn’t a single ounce of recognition in them. Instinctively Ichigo leaped back, putting distance between them. His shoulder was screaming.

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo panted, squinting in the darkness. Blood was running through his grasping fingers. His sword arm was useless. “It’s me. It’s Kurosaki.” His eyes and his hair were so much brighter than the rest of him. “You _know_ me.”

A rippling snarl that belonged to nothing walking on two legs filled the air. Then in a blaze of blue power Grimmjow took a step toward him, and Ichigo saw exactly what had happened to him.

Grimmjow wasn’t hidden in shadows, he’d become one. Every inch of his skin had turned onyx-black from head to toe. The only colour Ichigo could make out was the green estigma around his eyes, which had spread in ragged lines to meet ears that were as pitch-black as his skin. His legs and forearms were covered in a close layer of dense black fur, leaving only his scythe-like bone protrusions—also now black—to glint with a deadly sheen. A long sinuous black tail lashed hard in the air, trailing reiryoku like an after-image.

All of that, all of it and yet all Ichigo could stare at was the blue shine of Grimmjow’s claws. Bared and glowing on both hand and foot, Ichigo could only remember them ever looking like that before his desgarrón; those blades of pure destructive energy that had once almost ripped him in two. His blood was still dripping from one hand.

“It’s a release,” he croaked up at Grimmjow, willing him to understand. “Your second release form. You gotta wake up, Grimmjow—”

A shrieking feline roar hit him like a wall. Foreign power surged into Ichigo, past him, leaving a complete absence of movement behind. Slack fingers fell from the gaping mess of his shoulder. Blood steadily poured down his chest, saturating his clothes. He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

The hollow that had been Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez took a silent, purposeful step forward. Under his snarl, white teeth like knives caught the weak moonlight. Ichigo wondered if that was going to be the last thing he ever saw.

“G—” His throat couldn’t even make the sounds that formed his name. “Gri—”

Another step, another snarling, rolling breath. Shining claws and sharp teeth. Ichigo strained against the paralysis. Sweat was rolling off his temples. His heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest. If sound vibrations could do it, maybe sound could undo it if he could get Grimmjow to roar again. He just had to _move_. Silently straining under the force, Ichigo tried to get his arms up.

Whatever speed Grimmjow had before was nothing on the way he moved then. A silent blur of black and not even a whisper of reiatsu to herald him, and then he was so close to Ichigo that the fall of his hair was brushing his cheek. So close Ichigo could see his hair was shot with strands of black too. The things you notice before a wild hollow tears you to shreds, he thought with a distant, wry sort of finality. He really hoped Grimmjow didn’t blame himself when he came to. It happened to the best of them, didn’t it? Turning his eyes upward in slow increments, Ichigo looked up into that blazing, feral gaze. He was nothing but instinct and predatory rage. And power; strange power that allowed him to disappear and ambush and freeze his prey.

As Grimmjow leaned in to rip into his throat, Ichigo thought unbidden, _you're still the coolest hollow I ever saw._

Teeth grazed his throat—and stopped.

Instead of crushing his windpipe, instead of ripping out his jugular, teeth were replaced by a nose that swept up and down the curve of Ichigo’s neck. Like he was searching for something.

Or like he’d found something.

 _“Kurosaki,_ _”_ he rasped, his two-tone voice sounding like it was fighting itself to make words. _“_ _Kurosaki?”_

“Ye—yeah,” Ichigo managed. His hands had barely moved enough to scratch at Grimmjow’s hollow hole, his fingertips hanging on the seam of it for desperate purchase. Relief was trembling somewhere deep inside, but he couldn’t believe it just yet. He didn’t dare. “Me.”

The exploration continued over his neck and the muscle joining his shoulder til his face swept straight into the fresh blood still streaming out of the slashed-up joint. Hissing in a breath at the pain of his mouth moving through the wounds, Ichigo desperately tried to remind himself that Grimmjow wasn’t entirely himself yet.

At first he thought it was thunder rolling in: the deep, rhythmic sound that filled the air. It was encompassing, heavy with a reiatsu pressure that felt nothing like the roar that had stopped him dead. Then his shoulder started to prickle and burn. In one long push of power that rippled through him, Ichigo felt his muscles let go so fast he almost crumpled.

Blue-glowing claws caught him roughly, cutting into his elbows. A barbed tongue scraped through the laid-open wounds of his shoulder. Ichigo tried not to scream. And all the while, Grimmjow purred in his unnatural voice, sounding closer to a drumming growl than anything resembling comfort. Whatever he was doing, it was slowly knitting the skin of his shoulder together again.

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo forced out, lifting his good arm up to rest his hand on the back of his neck, beneath the mess of his wild blue hair. “Get it together. Your instincts are—ow, _fuck_ —they’ve taken control.”

All his words earned him was a flex of claws on his injured arm. They sank through his skin like he was made of soft dough, not lean muscle and bone. Locked up with agony, trying to think, Ichigo knew he couldn’t move his arm again without possibly losing it. He didn’t want to draw his sword on Grimmjow in an unknown second release while he was out of his fucking mind, but if the choice was between that and being accidentally torn to shreds, maybe he’d have to take his chances. He still couldn’t bring himself to do it. There had to be something else he could do.

It was about then that Kon’s fuzzy face popped into his mind.

_Speak his language._

Fucking Kon. His ideas were always shit.

Ichigo still turned his head and licked a long stripe over Grimmjow’s jet-black cheek.

The purring stopped instantly. Jerking like he’d been touched with a live wire, Grimmjow’s head lifted to stare at him with inhuman, glowing eyes. There was nothing intelligent or recognisable in that gaze. No way their eyes could possibly meet with the reiryoku glazing them. Blood was smeared over the corner of his mouth. Ichigo’s blood. His breath smelled like wet copper from a distance of two inches away.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Ichigo thought, steeling himself for a brutal savaging. Fucking Kon, fucking fucking Kon—

 _“Gross,"_ Grimmjow said on a rumble, blinking at him. Pulling his claws out of Ichigo’s arm, he swiped the back of his hand over his cheek. _“_ _You’re pretty—_ _”_ he coughed suddenly, spraying Ichigo’s face with spit, “you’re pretty fuckin’ weird, Kurosaki.” Then he pulled back and seemed to get a clear look at Ichigo, from his blood-matted hair and neck, to his clawed-up shoulder and gashed-open shihakushou sleeves. His eyes widened.

“Don’t freak out,” Ichigo started. “It’s okay.”

Grimmjow looked down at himself. At his blue claws, at his jet-black skin, at the slick blood barely visible on his hands. At his fur, his tail, his feet. The look he shot Ichigo was reeling.

“What’d I do?” he whispered, afraid. “The hell happened? I haven’t got a fuckin’ mark on me, Kurosaki, I—” His eyes lit on Ichigo’s shoulder again and immediately slammed shut. “Fuck! _Fuck!_ "

“It’s just a few scratches,” Ichigo told him. He pointedly didn’t try to move his arm. He wasn’t sure he could, even with the partial healing. “It’s okay, Grimmjow, it wasn’t you—”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ point! It wasn’t me! I’m still not me!” Looking at his own forearms with revulsion, Grimmjow started clawing at the fur there. Dark red meat opened up in his arms, exposed by his rent skin. “This isn’t my fuckin’ skin!”

“Don’t!” Ichigo yelled. He reached out and grabbed his hands before he could do too much damage to himself. “It’s yours, damn it! You evolved again. Ulquiorra did it once—it’s a second stage resurrección. I don’t think anyone knew he had it.” Feeling him waver in his grip, Ichigo tore off his ripped sleeve and started tying it around Grimmjow’s shredded arm. “I don’t know why you weren’t yourself when it happened though.” He wasn’t especially gentle, biting on one end of the fabric and using his good hand to pull it tight.

Grimmjow barely noticed. He reached up and laid his palm to Ichigo’s blood-soaked shoulder. His face looked sickened.

Then he started to laugh.

It wasn’t a nice sound. It was something bitter, something hopeless and defeated. Under Ichigo’s confounded eyes Grimmjow started to break apart, still shedding reiryoku in brilliant waves of thin, pale blue light. His reiatsu spiked up and down somewhere between stifling and barely perceptible. He looked like he was losing his mind a little.

“I was waiting for this,” he said, his voice roughening up into that discordant animal rasp again. “I knew it couldn’t all hold together for long. I fuckin’ knew it. Now look at me. Look at _you_. Lost my damn mind, didn’t I? Shredded you to pieces and you let me, you stupid fuck. You dumb, trusting asshole.”

“Actually—”

“Couldn’t play house forever,” Grimmjow said harshly, cutting across his words. Ichigo grit his teeth. “Knew it from the start that one day I’d fuck it up. Couldn’t keep it, even with all of you clambering over each other to tell me how fuckin’ great I am. Hollow are only good for one thing. Arrancar are good for about three, and they’re all about how to kill.” Spreading his arms, gesturing to his strange new form, Grimmjow bared his sharp teeth and laughed coldly. “I have no fuckin’ idea how to change back, Kurosaki. Still want this in your house? Want Yuzu trying to hug this? Karin trying to fight _this?”_

“I—”

“Hueco Mundo is the only place that could take me. I knew that from the start—”

Ichigo slammed his fist into Grimmjow’s stomach so hard he doubled over and collapsed, retching into the dirt. Red-faced and furious, Ichigo rammed his foot into his side for good measure, but the hierro was obviously back in force when he immediately felt something snap in the top of his foot. Swearing loudly, Ichigo couldn’t jump back in time to avoid the arm that swiped his legs out from under him, opening up the back of his calves again with hot lines of pain. Landing hard on his back, he slugged out again when Grimmjow forced his face back into his field of vision, snarling like a feral animal. Catching him hard on the nose, Ichigo was gratified to hear him yell and recoil, hitting the dirt beside him.

“You are such an asshole,” Ichigo seethed, elbow-crawling on his belly until he could get a leg over Grimmjow’s sprawled form to keep him down.“This is what’s been eating at you? Do you have any idea how stupid that is? My sisters would forgive you if you came home with a dead fucking bird in your mouth, you dumbass, let alone accidentally shredding the couch or whatever you’re worried about. Dad’s seen more shit than I ever want to know in detail, and I really don’t ever want to ask why he knows so much about the code of conduct.” When Grimmjow tried to rear up, eyes blazing, Ichigo stabbed his finger right into one shining eye and yanked on a soft green-black ear. “You think we can’t take you? Our house has had holes blown in it. A perverted mod soul in the body of a stuffed lion lives with us. Yuzu’s been to _hell,_ Karin once joined a mercenary hollow-killing squad and I’ve taken down every damn piece of supernatural shit that ever came my way. You’re fucking _toast_ _,_ Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.”

“Kurosaki—”

Ichigo leaned down hard until he could put his face right in Grimmjow’s, just as he’d tried to do to him.

“But you know what’s even worse? You’re _mine."_ Ignoring the pain in his body, the blood sticking to his skin, Ichigo gave Grimmjow his hardest glare. “I don’t care how many times you lose your mind and attack me. I’ll hold out until you can change back. I don’t care if you sleep on me, use my toothbrush or tell me the ending to books I haven’t read yet. I’m bulletproof. I told you once I’d take you in any shape you came in, didn’t I?” Ichigo planted his palms on a smooth chest that felt like it was made of shadows. “You’re not getting away from me again.”

Breathing like a wounded animal, expression slack with incredulity, Grimmjow stared up at him. One of his eyes was streaming tears from the vicious poke Ichigo had given him. He just laid there, looking still and strange and impossibly, horribly dear. Sharp teeth. Sharp claws. Skin like night and body shining like stars.

Just an absolute idiot, really.

“Why?” Grimmjow asked starkly, fingers sinking to the knuckles in the stone beneath him. “Never did a single decent thing my entire life. You’re the good one: takin’ in strays, bandaging wounds and saving people. You’re the hero, the quincy wasn’t wrong about that. Fuckin’ bleeding heart shinigami, saving his enemies. Why do you want me so bad?”

A hundred answers. More. They crowded Ichigo’s tongue and tripped over each other to make it off his lips.

_I’m better around you._

_You remind me who I am._

_I can sleep at night again._

_You’re honest with me._

_You challenge me._

_My family loves you._

_I—_

“Since I was fifteen I’ve been fighting for other people.” Ichigo sat back but Grimmjow didn’t get up. He just blinked up at the cloud-dusted midnight sky. “Friends, family, humans, shinigami, hollow, whoever needed it, and I never asked anything in return. I just wanted everyone safe. Fighting Yhwach, I didn’t think we’d even make it out of there, til we did. And I—and when we got back to the others, I wanted to see one person out of everyone in that courtyard. I wanted to see the person who’d ground me after the hardest fight of my life. Someone who’d tell me our fight wasn’t settled til he said it was.” The soft nostalgia slid off his face like oil. “But then they told me you were dead.”

Grimmjow pulled in a breath and exhaled.

“Heard this story already.”

“Yeah, well. It’s your answer.”

“How?”

Ichigo looked down at him, unable to smile or scowl or look away. Just looked.

“You’re the one thing I wanted for myself, after all the fighting and bleeding and pain. You disappeared on me twice, but I’ve got you now and I’m not letting go.” Leaning forward again, he took in all of Grimmjow’s animal features; his weird ears, his stupid teeth and the way his pulse jumped under the thin rolling current of his power. “After all that shit, I deserve you. So just shut up and love me already.”

Probably could have worded that in a nicer way, Ichigo thought as Grimmjow stared blindly up at the stars, barely breathing. His glowing eyes were wide. But fuck it, he was tired of mincing words. Tired of feeling shitty and pent-up and sad, tired of wondering exactly what was going on in Grimmjow’s head. Tip-toeing hadn’t done anything. Waiting hadn’t done anything. Now he was bleeding and just, really in a lot of pain, and Grimmjow was some kind of terrifying black panther assassin who thought it’d be a good idea to leave and never come back. There was too much to think about and Ichigo didn’t want any of it. If Grimmjow didn’t want him, fine, he’d live with it—find a way to live with it.

Slowly, Grimmjow pushed himself up on his elbows, then upright on his palms until he could look Ichigo in the eye from only half a foot away. His face was harder to read in that form, with his eyes light-obscured like they were. When he closed the gap and kissed Ichigo full on the lips with his blood-smeared, sharp-toothed mouth though, that really cleared things up.

It was extremely weird. His mouth felt kind of hard from his hierro and his teeth were too sharp, plus his tongue was made of haunted sandpaper and nearly took Ichigo’s lower lip off with one swipe. It was really, really weird, Ichigo thought as he leaned into it anyway, shoving his hands into long blue hair and opening his mouth against Grimmjow’s.

“This isn’t right,” Grimmjow muttered angrily into Ichigo’s jawline a few seconds later. Before Ichigo could cringe in mortification, he added, “Hang on.”

A familiar blue-white aura burst around his body after a moment, feeling more like something Ichigo associated with laughter and battle and sweat. It blinded him for a handful of seconds, and when he looked back Grimmjow was painted in shades of cream and white and blue. Soft black fur beneath Ichigo’s thighs had been traded for hard white plates. Before Ichigo could even congratulate or tease him about reversing his second release so quickly clawed hands were around his back, pulling him in to kiss him again, rough and warm and a little bit pointy, what with his teeth still being sharp as hell. But his tongue was smooth that time, which was kind of okay, except his claws were digging into his back.

Ignoring it, Ichigo reached up and ran his fingertips over Grimmjow’s furry ear, now blue and green instead of black. Oh god, it was weird. He was going to be arrested. Whatever, he thought, praying silently as he slipped his tongue into Grimmjow’s mouth, it was only a—

“This feels fucked up. Fucking armour,” Grimmjow snarled as he pulled away for a second time. Ichigo could have yelled. Reiryoku burned around him one more time, and in a ripple of reishi and dissolving energy he finally sat in his usual skin; drying blood smeared up one side of his face, his right eye still leaking uncontrollably, forearm wrapped up in Ichigo’s torn off sleeve. Blue hair, black jumpsuit, no mask, shining lips parted and blue eyes painfully familiar. They were looking at him like he was something adored—and a little irritating.

“You really thought I wanted to leave,” Grimmjow said, “after you dumped everything in my lap a hollow ain’t supposed to have. All the shit we’re supposed to drive ourselves mad with wanting and never finding. Threw it at me for free. Trusted me. Missed me. Wanted me.” Even in the watery moonlight without the reiryoku of his transformation there, Ichigo could see Grimmjow’s wondering look. “It was too much, when I was just waitin’ for you to get sick of me.”

“Dumbass,” Ichigo pronounced with zero sympathy. “I thought I was the one with the head injury.”

Grimmjow smiled then, and Ichigo’s mouthy follow-up froze in his throat. After a moment of looking away and looking back, Ichigo could only smile in return. With his good hand he dragged his bad arm up until he could rest it on Grimmjow’s shoulder. Obligingly, Grimmjow bit down on Ichigo’s forearm and dragged it further until they rested in a loose embrace. He looked a little pleased with himself when Ichigo was able to link his hands together behind his neck. Their locked gaze was warm and stupid with blood loss and happiness.

Hell.

Maybe they deserved each other.

“I really need medical attention,” Ichigo confided just before he was kissed a third time; an open-mouthed, hungry lunge that smeared Ichigo’s own drying blood over his cheek. Blunt-nailed fingers slid through the tears in his shihakushou, stroking over the battered skin of his back. He sighed at the cool fingertips that ran over his bruise-hot skin. “You know what, it can wait.”

What a night, Ichigo thought faintly as he was tipped onto his back, careful as spun glass. He was bleeding from about twenty different places and he probably had a mild concussion, but he also had Grimmjow settled between his thighs and hungrily exploring his mouth, his hands running down any skin he could reach; his face, his neck, his chest, his arms. He didn’t care about the blood, or the dirt or pain. It was the same old theme in their story, really, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re stuck with me now, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow muttered against his ear at one point, breath still ragged from kissing him for too long. “I don’t give a shit about your old man’s shinigami code of conduct. You’re gettin’ a bigger bed.”

“Let’s just get rid of the futon and work from there.”

“Deal.” A suckling mouth worked its way down the uninjured side of Ichigo’s neck, moving toward his shoulder. Ichigo was struck by a sudden thought.

“Maybe next time you can scrub me down in the shower.” He affected an expression of bland interest when Grimmjow’s head popped up like a cork. “Since I’m all torn up.”

Almost expecting Grimmjow to argue the point, he was completely unprepared for a renewed kiss that stirred what blood Ichigo still had left into places that really didn’t need it. A hand slid under his ass and hauled him up as Grimmjow surged to his feet in one long movement, leaving him sagging in his arms like an annoyed wet paper towel with a massive sword on his back.

“Can we not,” Ichigo started, but Grimmjow was already leaping through with sonido, the late autumn wind whipping around them like ice. “Fine.”

“Shut up and fall in love with me, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow laughed against his ear, low and intimate as he darted across the sky. “While I take us home.”

Just this once, Ichigo thought, allowing himself to be ferried across the starlit sky. Streaky white clouds were backlit by the moon, making him remember a hilltop, a hollow and a night that changed everything all over again. Ichigo knocked his head against a much-warmer cheek. He smiled into Grimmjow’s neck.

“Okay.”

He figured the rest could be worked out later.

It was time to go home.


	15. After: One Month Later

_Prove it._

Ichigo stared at the text message. He’d been frowning at it for the last five minutes, but Rukia’s order stayed the same. She wanted him to prove that he and Grimmjow were together, because despite trusting him at her back through some of Soul Society’s worst wars she suspected he was a dirty little lying liar. That was the last time he ever bothered to keep her up to date on his news.

In fact, he’d tried really hard to make sure she was the first person in Seireitei to know, even bugging Urahara for one of his spare soul phones that could actually communicate with them over there and a full contact list of the Gotei 13. The last thing he needed was for a red alert to go out on Grimmjow for being in the Living World for long stretches of time.

It was clear what she was asking for; the phones had cameras just like any other, only they could capture hollows where regular Living World smartphones couldn’t. All Ichigo had to do was snap a photo of Grimmjow doing something blatantly affectionate. Couple stuff. Cute stuff.

Yeah, Ichigo knew he had no chance. Grimmjow was too damn sharp to be tricked into a sneaky photo.

“Hell with this.” Shoving the phone into his back pocket, Ichigo stomped down into the kitchen for a pre-dinner snack. If Rukia wasn’t going to take his word for it, fine. He didn’t have to prove anything. Opening the refrigerator, he bent down to glare at the contents until he stopped being annoyed. His shoulder prickled with the sudden yank on fresh scars. Reaching up with his free hand, Ichigo rubbed at the tightness over his shoulder joint.

It had been a month since that night on the outskirts, when Grimmjow had achieved his second stage resurrección and almost torn Ichigo apart. His own fault more than Grimmjow’s, really, since he hadn’t wanted to attack back hard enough to kill him. The wounds had closed up, but they’d also transferred to his human body when he refused to see Inoue about the injuries. The result was four perfectly tender, still-pink claw marks that curved over his shoulder and through his collarbone. Kidou healing couldn’t erase deep scarring, but Isshin had done his level best to try. Grimmjow had a few of his own too: a clawed inner forearm the very match of Ichigo’s shoulder and calf.

It had really put a dampener on the whole mutual demand of love and eternal fighting thing, to be honest. Ichigo never even got his promised shower, instead relegated to weeks of disgruntled bath-time so he didn’t get his dressings wet. Getting a photo for Rukia was impossible while ever Grimmjow was still behaving like Ichigo was keeping his cool scars to punish him. After Ichigo pointed out the hypocrisy of Grimmjow complaining about flaunting scars, he’d refused to talk about it, instead choosing to sulk whenever he saw them.

Closing the fridge door, Ichigo cast his senses out for anything that resembled the arrancar in question. Nothing. Probably back in Hueco Mundo doing damage to the landscape while he figured out the full range of all his new skills. He’d never admit it while Grimmjow was still being a dick, but Ichigo was absolutely dying to train with that new form now that Grimmjow was getting a handle on his instincts. Sound attacks, paralysis, absolutely silent movement and no reiatsu signature? Desgarrón on command, regeneration and cool black fur? He’d already asked twice, but no, Ichigo had to get his full range of movement back first. What absolute bullshit.

Grimmjow had even given it a name: _Pantera Desatada_. It’d be cooler if Ichigo knew what the hell it meant, but he was in a funk whilever Grimmjow was, so he was refusing to look it up in his Spanish dictionary.

Both of them knew Ichigo was fine to fight, really. Grimmjow was just having a hard time separating his urge to fight Ichigo with his urge to do other stuff. Instincts. Hollow stuff. And maybe he was still angry he’d laid down so much damage while he was out of his mind. Ichigo could really relate to that feeling, what with Ulquiorra’s death and all, so he hadn’t tried to push it.

Still. It sucked.

Stewing on everything like it was his second job, Ichigo opened his phone again and read through their short message thread.

_Hey Rukia, it’s Ichigo. Long time no talk, I guess. I wanted to give you an update before the rest of Seireitei finds out through Urahara: Grimmjow actually survived the battle for Soul Society. We’re…kind of together now. In a relationship._

**[Rukia]:** _Ichigo, I’ve known you since you were a child and this is the first I’ve heard of you being gay. Frankly this whole story reeks of weird, disappointing tomfoolery._

_You met me four years ago. And don’t say tomfoolery. Nobody says tomfoolery anymore._

**[Rukia]:** _You’re trying to tell me that not only is that maniac arrancar Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez alive and well, but you two are courting. That’s the very definition of tomfoolery._

_It’s true! Well, not the courting part. He’s not bringing me a corsage and inviting me to prom. We just worked some stuff out and now he sleeps in my bed every night._

**[Rukia]:** _Prove it._

“I’ve done nothing to deserve this kind of doubt,” Ichigo said to the screen, “so no, I’m not sending you nudes.”

“Nudes?” Yuzu said interestedly, carrying in the laundry basket to the couch where she could start folding. “Who are you sending nudes to? Grimmjow doesn’t even have a phone.”

“Yeah, who the fuck are you sending nudes to?” Grimmjow asked, following her in from the backyard. He was still jet black with his transformation, his long blue hair brushing the back of his sleekly furred thighs. Ichigo fumbled his phone and shoved it in his pocket, amazement crumpling his pissed expression. “If I don’t get any, nobody does.”

Right, the reiatsu masking. Ichigo hadn’t sensed his return at all. But that didn’t explain why he was walking around in front of Yuzu wearing nothing but furry pants.

“Nobody is getting nudes. I told Rukia about us and she doesn’t believe me. Why are you still in your second release?”

“Adjustment therapy, or some shit,” Grimmjow replied with a shrug. “Figured out how to sheathe my claws so Isshin started crapping on about self-acceptance. You scratch your arm open one damn time…” He prowled his way over to Ichigo on silent feet, looming over him a little with his extra leg height. His second release was, if possible, even lankier than his usual one. Hazed-over blue eyes glowed down at Ichigo in a mild scowl. “Who the hell is Rukia, anyway?”

“You put your hand through her.”

“That doesn’t narrow the list, Kurosaki. Putting my hand through people is my signature move.”

“You never put your hand through me.” Reaching out, Ichigo threaded his fingers through the long fall of blue hair sliding over Grimmjow’s gleaming black shoulder. His hierro made him look almost like he was made of carved black stone. “Does that mean I’m special?”

“No, it means you were too fast.” Sharp white teeth gleamed like knives when Grimmjow smiled. “Hands want to go other places now.” Long fingers reached around Ichigo’s waist, tugging him in close. “You smell pretty good today.”

“You think I smell good every day,” Ichigo replied, tilting his head to let a horrifyingly raspy tongue taste the pulse in his neck. It distracted him just enough that he almost missed the fingers trailing down toward his pocket to swipe his phone away. He slapped the questing palm down against his hip, pinning it in place. “Rukia was there the night we first met, remember?”

“Kind of.” Teeth tested the give of his throat, nothing close to dangerous. Grimmjow’s mouth just liked to be anywhere Ichigo’s neck was. “I was distracted by a scrappy shinigami with orange hair.”

“That scrappy shinigami opened you from hip to shoulder, asshole.”

“Good times,” Grimmjow said with satisfaction. “I’d still have that scar if I hadn’t regressed.”

“Do you miss it? I can give you another one if you’ll quit freezing me out of your fucking training sessions. I’m bored here.”

“Nice to feel needed,” he rumbled, still nosing around Ichigo’s neck. “Miss you too.”

“Bullshit.” Ichigo had to hold down his smile. “So are you going to let me take a photo of us so that Seireitei doesn’t issue a kill order on you for being in this world too long?”

“Let ‘em come down. I could use a good fight.”

“Nobody is fighting you before I get to.” Pulling out the phone, Ichigo flicked it across to camera mode while Grimmjow was snorting into his shoulder. “C’mon, lose that form and kiss me for the camera. I want Rukia to repent so hard she puts her forehead through the floor.”

“Forget it. I’m not performing for some sawn-off shinigami with an attitude.”

“So you do remember her,” Ichigo said triumphantly, blinking off the sparks as Grimmjow’s reiryoku transformed back down twice until he stood in his usual black catsuit and white jacket. His scowl wasn’t friendly. “Come on, do it for me.”

“So you can do it for her? Work for your meal, Kurosaki. I’m going to take a shower.” Stalking out of Ichigo’s bewildered reach, Grimmjow rounded the corner of the kitchen and headed into the hallway for the stairs. Over by the couch, Yuzu was giving him a long, measuring look.

“That was a real season three Derek move, Ichi-nii. You could at least kiss him for free a few times first.”

Cheeks burning, Ichigo didn’t even know how to approach that remark.

“Aren’t you bothered by his furry nakedness walking around like that?” he blurted out, mostly to distract her.

“Why?” Yuzu asked blankly. “Blue was naked all the time and it never bothered me. Besides, Grimmjow says his privates are all hidden away so they don’t get chopped off in a fight. He told me so.” She started rolling socks into expert little balls, never once looking down at her handiwork. “Now, go up there and tell him you’re sorry you’re so dumb.”

“I’m going, but not because you told me to,” Ichigo said emphatically as he backed away toward the hall, glowering. “Excuse me if I actually thought ahead about the stupid shinigami code of conduct thing.”

Yuzu, damn her irritating little face, just tsked at him. Having an arrancar boyfriend who was best friends with his sister was absolutely a pain in the ass. Ichigo had been distracted by the message, that was all. He wasn’t neglecting anyone—hell, if anything, he was the one being neglected, since Grimmjow was refusing to train that new form with him. Who the hell went off to Hueco Mundo to fight hollows when Ichigo was standing right there? And as much as Ichigo hated the idea of showing proof of anything just to get everything above board with Soul Society, he really had to think ahead before someone came down to arrest him for harbouring an arrancar, if that’s what Grimmjow could still be classified as. He didn’t even have a mask anymore.

Upstairs, the sound of water rushing in the bathroom said Grimmjow really was showering. Pottering awkwardly in his room for a while, wondering where the hell Kon was for it to be so silent in the house, Ichigo put his phone on the edge of his desk and tried to talk himself out of a really, really dumb idea. Sure, it’d speed things up and ensure they’d be able to stay under the general radar of Soul Society with permission, but…it would be kind of gross to do to Grimmjow.

Kneeling on the floor, Ichigo opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a small brown glass bottle with an eyedropper cap. He hadn’t touched it since the day Inoue slipped it in his pocket. One good hit of that catnip oil and Grimmjow would be all over him like, well, a happy cat. It’d be easy to take a photo while he was distracted, but that was gross, and he absolutely wasn’t going to use it. In fact, he should just throw it all out.

Part of Ichigo was desperately curious to see what it would do. But like that? No.

Hearing the bathroom door open to the sound of Grimmjow coughing at all the steam in the bathroom, Ichigo jumped and kicked the drawer shut, tossing the bottle in the wastebasket. Unfortunately, the basket was empty, meaning it landed in the bottom with a loud clatter that Grimmjow immediately frowned at as he walked in.

“What’s that?” Grimmjow asked, kicking the door shut with a casual foot, lazily towelling his wet hair. He was absolutely stark naked yet again, because he was a clothes-hating savage and that was probably never going to change. He’d already trained Karin and Yuzu to cover their eyes any time the bathroom door opened, irrespective of who the hell was in there. Wearing the towel like a wimple he walked over to the bottle and frowned down at it. “What’s in that?”

“Catnip oil,” Ichigo said offhandedly. Lying wouldn’t cheat Grimmjow’s nose if he grabbed it. “Inoue gave it to me that day you got high—” He stopped talking when Grimmjow’s hand shot down to grab the little bottle, his damp towel slowly sliding to the floor. His blue eyes were wide as he stared at the liquid inside it.

“You didn’t fuckin’ tell me you had  _more_ ," he breathed, almost reverent as he sloshed the oil around. “So why’d you bring it out now? Gonna drug me for photos, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s why I threw it in the trash,” Ichigo said, his stomach clenching in alarm. He would never have done it, but Grimmjow might just assume from the fact he’d pulled it out in the first place. “Want to put some sweatpants on? Dad bought you those loose yoga pants last week, since you’re all worried about your balls not ventilating, or whatever.”

Truth was, in a desperate attempt to stop him flashing the girls, Isshin specifically went out and bought an entire wardrobe of soft, loose-fitting pants and comfortable shirts that might convince Grimmjow to stop being so naked all the time. Apart from his reishi catsuit and jacket, he didn’t have any other clothes. He now probably looked like the invisible man to any non-spiritually aware people looking in the windows, being just some ass-hugging loose pants and an open shirt most of the time.

“You could learn a thing or two from me about wearing less clothes,” was all Grimmjow said, still squinting at the bottle. “Got nothing to be ashamed of.” Slowly, he held it back out to Ichigo. “Put some of this on.”

Man, it was tempting. Too tempting, really. But Ichigo grabbed the bottle and some clean clothes as well, shaking his head as he backed toward the bedroom door.

“Nope. But I’m keeping this while I shower in case you start tripping balls while I’m occupied.”

“Dick.”

“You’re the dick.” Well, there went Yuzu’s instructions to apologise, Ichigo thought as Grimmjow snorted. “You going to nap?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t keep a schedule on these things.”

“Yeah, well dry your hair if you do. You keep making the pillows damp.”

“Worry about your own pillow.”

“I am! You keep using it!”

“So just use my pillow then!”

“So you can sneak your scent all over my head? In your dreams, Jaegerjaquez. I see right through you.”

Grimmjow’s eyes slitted.

“Go have your fuckin’ shower!”

“Oh, I will. And by the way, you’re not invited.” Ichigo stomped out of the room.

“Didn’t…didn’t want to get in anyway,” Grimmjow muttered before the door shut.

They argued a lot, come to think of it, Ichigo thought as he organised himself in the bathroom, tugging his shirt off over his head. Pillows, scars, being left out of training, who hogged the bed, who hid the remote, used all the hot water, bleeding on the sheets, being naked too much, wearing too many clothes, you name it, Ichigo had argued over it with Grimmjow at some point in the last month.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Arguing while Ichigo’s claw marks healed was the new battleground, and they both enjoyed the triumphant rush of laying down a brutal verbal barb over some pretty trivial shit. Never anything that mattered to either of them. They’d spent a few weeks like that, griping and grumbling and complaining, but for every swipe and snarl there was other stuff.

Good stuff.

Things like waking up after almost a full night of unbroken sleep, warm and as comfortable as he’d ever been in his life, turning his head and finding Grimmjow’s usually sharp blue gaze just blinking back at him, soft and sleepy. Things like the ease of just reaching out and finding skin, or giving Grimmjow a particular kind of smile in the morning and being kissed absolutely stupid for it. Things like—like nights of pouring rain and being dry and cozy inside, no longer feeling the shameful pang from when Ichigo ran outside to find Grimmjow saturated on the doorstep, sitting there defeated and sad. Things were pretty damn good, really, and they’d get even better once they could fight with swords again.

Because it wasn’t about the scars, as much as Grimmjow didn’t like seeing them on his skin. It was not being in control of his new instincts. He’d happily fillet Ichigo as long as he knew it was him doing it and not just his crazy hollow weirdness. That was probably the only thing that stopped them really arguing about it. Grimmjow loved fighting him. Loved it. And he missed it, but he was a strategist at heart, which meant the only instinctive reactions Ichigo should ever see were the ones he allowed through his iron control. Anything less was messy. Unschooled. And it pissed him off to no end.

“And leaves me right out in the cold,” Ichigo murmured to himself, jumping under the spray of water. On the upside, there was hot water left. Small mercies in a household where Grimmjow liked to take scalding marathon showers. Knowing that the arrancar in question was probably doing his late afternoon nap in the sunbeams that crawled over the bed, Ichigo took his sweet time soaping himself up and washing his hair. The more he removed all scent from himself the more Grimmjow tried to physically smother him with his own body, which was completely okay by Ichigo. It was also an excellent turnaround from the earlier days when Grimmjow hadn’t even been able to kiss him for too long without having to pull away, flushed and angry about his newly sensitive body.

Not that it meant they’d done anything too heavy. Some stuff, sure; Ichigo could clearly picture the nights with the curtains pulled back, moonlight streaming across them as Grimmjow’s hands quested over his bare skin, lips finding his scarred shoulder as his fingertips dragged circles over his stomach and down. It still wasn’t the kind of stuff that had warranted Isshin’s fatherly gifts of a litre bottle of unscented almond oil and a kidou charm that could deafen everyone to what happened in his room. Ichigo was flustered just thinking about it. Flustered and curious.

Which brought him back to the catnip. Mopping his face and neck with a towel, still hot from the shower, Ichigo reached out and grabbed the bottle, draping his towel across his shoulders to unscrew the cap. Lifting it to his nose warily, he took a quick sniff of the contents. It smelled mostly just kind of green, like crushed leaves always kind of did, with a minty undertone somewhere in there. It triggered absolutely nothing in him, which really just highlighted that Grimmjow was still a complete other species to him. Not a shinigami. A hollow, albeit the kind of hollow that had never existed before. Musing on it as he dried off and pulled on some sweatpants of his own, Ichigo quickly slid the wet glass eyedropper across his throat and down the centre of his chest, rubbing it in with his fingers. For some reason his heart was absolutely hammering in his chest.

Yuzu had said to make an apology for the Rukia thing. The catnip was just an extension of that.

Yeah.

Ichigo bundled his clothes up to throw in the hamper in his bedroom and tore back across the hallway before anyone saw how red his face was. Stupid Grimmjow with his cat drugs, why the hell was he getting so worked up? Inoue hadn’t had that much of a hard time with him when she’d used it. Just some cuddling and sleepy-cute behaviour. Ichigo saw plenty of that every morning. It probably wouldn’t even have an effect.

In fact, Ichigo decided with a roll of his eyes when he saw the state of the bedroom, it definitely wouldn’t.

Right in the centre of the bed that now took up most of the bedroom, half curled in on himself and still completely bare-ass naked, Grimmjow was curled around Ichigo’s pillow. Asleep. His wet hair was leaving a dark patch on the quilt, slowly drying from its darker blue strands into the soft light blue he knew so well. He was frowning into the corner of the pillow.

“You are so predictable,” Ichigo told his sleeping face, grabbing the towel off the floor and dumping it all in the hamper together. “And a little bit adorable.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you ever call me adorable again.” Grimmjow didn’t even open his eyes to make the threat. “But thanks.”

“Uh huh.” Waving his hands in the still air of the bedroom, Ichigo watched for the exact moment he caught the scent.

It was about the time his eyes popped open and hands yanked Ichigo down onto the bed so fast the drawstring snapped on his waistband.

“Hey, fuck! Watch the pants!” Ichigo griped, bouncing with his landing on the mattress, but he shut up pretty quickly as Grimmjow stared down at him with wide eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled. There was something a little less civilised in his face than usual. “Smelled it, huh.”

“Didn’t think you would,” Grimmjow said, head tilted, still not quite lowering down to the real source of the scent. “Damn, Kurosaki. You’re a fuckin’ treat in every sense of the world. Look at you.”

“I look the same as always,” Ichigo replied, eyebrows raised. “You’re just high on nip.”

“Nah, you look like you’re mine. Scarred off my claws—” ducking his head finally, Grimmjow kissed him hot and hard, “—got my taste, smelling like nothin’ but soap and water and me. Oiled up on that shit like you’re my personal birthday present. If you didn’t look confused as hell I’d say you’re trying to get me in the mood.”

“It takes less than you’d think,” Ichigo replied, cradling his jaw with both hands to tug him down for another kiss. “You’re pretty easy.” He didn’t do anything except lift his hips when Grimmjow reached down for the loose waist of his sweatpants, tugging them down and away. “The door’s not shut though, and there’s about twenty minutes until dinner’s ready.” A pity, if Ichigo was honest. He really liked the stuff Grimmjow was saying to him. He liked even more the touch of his calloused hands on his hot skin.

“Kid!” Grimmjow barked, not taking his eyes off Ichigo. “We’re skipping dinner. Cover your ears.”

“Oh, good!” Yuzu called back from downstairs. “I’ll put it in the fridge. I’m glad you’ve made up!”

“Gonna do more than that,” Grimmjow muttered, shooting up to shut and lock the bedroom door. Dazed and amused, Ichigo tossed his half-removed sweatpants on the floor in time for about twelve feet of pale skin and long legs to launch back into his arms, pushing him down into the mattress. The eyes that stared down at him were almost all pupil, black and predatory. “You gonna yell about it if I lick you a little first?”

Ichigo didn’t know if he was talking about the catnip-applied places, or somewhere—anywhere—else on his body. Leaning up a little, his stomach muscles going rigid with the movement, Ichigo ran his tongue up the teal estigma in the corner of his eye. The shudder that ripped up Grimmjow’s spine was utterly satisfying.

“Not if you keep telling me how good I look while you do it.”

Ichigo wanted to say he kept complete control of the events that followed, and that Grimmjow was the only one almost frantic with desperate hunger. That he was the only one kissing and biting any exposed flesh he could reach, the only one whose hands shook, the only one who loosed a quiet, surprised breath at the first touch of oil-slick skin meeting skin. Ichigo wanted to say he didn’t shake out a rough order to keep going, or curse when Grimmjow refused to comply right away. But he did, and they did, and rocking up into Grimmjow, feeling the slam of their bodies meeting Ichigo couldn’t bring himself to lie: he was just as desperately gone as Grimmjow was, and it was the best he’d felt in his entire life. Connected. Bruised. Bitten. Kissed and challenged and strong and scarred, Ichigo wondered as he buried his face in the salt-slick shoulder above him and muffled his release, if maybe he was just a little bit high on something too.

Later, when they could breathe again, still joined together and trailing fingers over skin that in a few more moments would stick them painfully together, Grimmjow exhaled a breath that seemed to come from the very soles of his feet.

“I’ll kill every shinigami in Soul Society if they come down here and say I can’t have you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” was all Ichigo said, swallowing at his cold and simple sincerity.

“I’ll go to Hueco Mundo, and I’ll raise the last fucking wave of vasto lorde left. I’ll tell ‘em to burn the place to the ground.”

“I believe you, Grimmjow.”

“Good.” Lifting his head out of the space behind Ichigo’s ear, Grimmjow yawned widely. His canines looked whiter and longer than ever. “So let’s take these fuckin’ photos and send ‘em to your shinigami pal before I fall asleep.”

Ichigo snorted. “We’re covered in…everything right now, we can’t take a photo.”

“No time like the present,” Grimmjow said stubbornly, reaching over with his stupid lanky arms and grabbing Ichigo’s phone from the desk. His glare meant business, even if he was listing a little with post-orgasmic haze and a lot of catnip. “And I said photos. Plural. I want that shinigami gremlin to be in no doubt that I fuckin’ bit that, licked that, sucked that and fucked that, and I’m gonna continue to do so til I’ve given up all my lives.” Pulling out with an incongruous amount of care, Grimmjow thumbed open the camera on the phone and thumped down beside him, naked, sticky and just way too pleased with himself.

It was a good look on him, Ichigo thought as Grimmjow turned his face and bit gently on his lower lip, tugging it just as the selfie camera flashed. It’d flash four more times after that, and he let it go. Rukia would bug out, but whatever. Seeing Grimmjow enjoying himself that much made the ear-ringing lecture he’d receive later all worth it.

“I want to fight you in your second release tomorrow,” Ichigo said when the phone had finally been put away, Grimmjow’s fun all wrapped up. He was smugly glowing from the pillow beside him. Man, they really needed a shower. Any second now. “If I don’t get to figure out that paralysis thing you did last time I’m going to die of jealousy.”

“Cute. Not yet.”

“I’ll put my hollow mask on for you.”

Grimmjow’s eyes popped open wide. “You still got that?”

“More or less. I’ll show you mine if you show me—”

“Deal. Deal. Fuckin’ deal. And keep it on afterwards too.”

“Afterwards,” Ichigo sounded out, wondering if Grimmjow was saying what Ichigo thought he was. The look in his eyes said that was exactly what he meant. “I can’t kiss you with that thing on.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll have me on my knees anyway.”

“Why didn’t I know this was a thing for you?” Ichigo asked accusingly, getting suddenly excited about the whole plan. This was a date he could get on board with. “Fuck, get in the shower. We’re cleaning up, and then we’re going to have a long talk about what I get to do to you when my hollow powers are up.”

“Whatever, but the answer’s already everything,” Grimmjow grumbled as he pushed himself up off the bed, letting Ichigo drag him toward the door. The girls and Isshin would still be downstairs; a naked hallway dash would be fine. “I’m startin’ to really feel that nip stuff, Kurosaki. You’d better shower me.”

“Nice try.”

With a plan set and some really good feelings between them, Ichigo was looking forward to what was coming for them. Even if Soul Society was a bit upset, Rukia would soften the blow and work things out there for him. Once she picked her jaw up off the floor, anyway.

Yeah, things were going to be great.

 

* * *

 

 **[Rukia]:** _ICHIGO, YOU SENT THOSE PHOTOS TO EVERYBODY IN THE GOTEI 13_

**End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, NOW it's the end. a few loose ends needed tying up, and there's [a little surprise in store for cat dandy fans](https://murderlight.tumblr.com/tagged/cat%20dandy) if you want to keep an eye on my tumblr over the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> as always, you guys are amazing. now that it's over, if you want to slap a kudos on the fic if you enjoyed it i'd be much obliged! all feedback is treasured. ♥

**Author's Note:**

> if you're on tumblr and love a good reblog, [all fanart related to my fics can be found on my blog here](https://murderlight.tumblr.com/tagged/murderfanart) ♥


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